The lights are low at Half-a-Dime, and the noise emitting from the bar can be heard from halfway down the block. It’s a busy night, and Dot is sitting by herself with a pint of their lager in her hand. The glass still has frost on it that burns her hand as she holds it, and it’s half empty.

She’s sitting by herself. Well, that’s a lie— Dot may as well be sitting by herself, though. She decided to take a chance and go out, something she doesn’t do very often to do her lack of funds and agoraphobic tendencies. Why spend all of that time, money and energy going out when you can drink in the peace of your own home, after all? That being said, Dot had a couple of friends who wanted her to hang out with some of their mutuals and invited her along to go bar hopping. Dot was unsure, but after some convincing from her friends she gave in— she wanted an excuse to get dolled up, anyway.

So, here she is. This is actually the second stop of the night, a dive bar just down the block from a brewery Dot had met her friends at. She had prepared for a nice night with friends, a time prowling the town in search of good times and good drinks. Her hair is just starting to get long— it’s starting to fall on her broad shoulders and drape on her black sweater dress. She had done her makeup too, a purple eyeshadow with thick black eyeliner. Yet, despite her best efforts to be more confident-seeming and to be “part of the girls,” it just wasn’t enough. At least, Dot didn’t think so.

Why was she sitting all by herself when her friends were at the bar with her? Perhaps Dot was just too shy to meet new people, as she had never met any of their mutual friends before. But, that’s not a big deal for her— she had a great conversation with one of them about a tv show they both like watching. Perhaps she said something wrong? But if that’s the case, she feels as though she could tell if people were mad at her— this doesn’t seem to be from a place of anger.

Yet, why is nobody involving her in the conversation? Nobody can see that she’s on the outlier either, apparently. They all have their backs turned to her and appear to be engrossed in a conversation about something Dot couldn’t hear and didn’t understand. She takes a drink of her beer and sighs. It was like this in the previous bar, too. The loud music and social eviction from the group had been discouraging, but Dot had had her hopes high going into Half-a-Dime just to have them dashed the second she came back with her drink.

The mutuals just might not know her, but they could at least involve her. She had to force her way into conversations so she wouldn’t be left alone, which gave way to weird looks being shot in her direction. Dot was just tired of being be only one that tried, and is upset that her friends sat on the opposite side of the table as well; it’s impossible to yell loud enough to talk to them.

She doesn’t know why she even tried with this. Dot knows that she’ll never be like one of them— she’s just an in between of the friend groups, an “other” that lurks in the background that is, at best, ignored. Maybe it’s just because she’s trans, and people are just being weird about it. Dot feels guilty about thinking of her friends like that— she knows they’re good people. But, why did they leave her alone?

Dot finishes her drink and looks at the time. It’s 10:30 pm, they’ve been there for thirty minutes and nobody has said a word to Dot. She wonders if she could leave without anybody noticing her, and looks at door with her legs crossed and fingers drumming on the table. She’d have to walk past the whole group of people on her way to it.

Dot gets up, pushes her chair in, and walks home before anyone notices she’s gone.