Last First Impression

   "I'm an actor," he said, his eyes staring much too intently into hers. So much so that she looked away, into the smoky darkness.
   "Really," she said without turning back to him, her monotone clearly meant to not encourage him further.
   She had heard all of this before, in varying forms, and each time it became more unnerving. Another frustrated artist, desperately seeking someone who believed in him, thinking she was the answer to the world's cruel indifference.
   He was here for redemption, like all the others. She was just here for a drink. This, she silently vowed, would be the last time.