this is…fucking broken and i love it
I scratched the surface of the bar with my thumbnail to see what the wood looked like before beer, vomit and oil from its patrons’ hands had coated its surface. My own beer had gone relatively flat. It probably hadn’t been stored properly to begin with. I watched Dale, the bar keep, swipe the silver surfaces of the countertops with a wet and filthy rag. I wondered why he bothered?
He had an affinity for country music sung by sorrowful women and I knew he was singing it in his head while he pretended to work. As I watched him, he glanced up casually before letting his eyes fall back to his hands. Then he lifted his eyes with deliberate slowness, like some irresistible force was summoning them. Whatever was holding his interest was directly over my left shoulder. Not wanting…
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