She seemed friendly enough, but who’s not, at a bar?  Well– lots of girls– they give you the snotty bitchy look as if they didn’t shit– but it was some type of innate behavior girls put on when they wear red lipstick and slutty heels.  The brunette, holding a blue drink and a red purse, was nice enough.  We chatted; she said she liked the weather.  I asked her if I might be able to call her another time and she told me she might be the last person in the world who didn’t have a phone; she was rebelling, and I thought of the tribes of people in the Sahara desert.  Surely they didn’t have phones.  She didn’t offer any other way of contact and I felt awkward.

I asked her what she was drinking.  “Adios, Motherfucker,” she laughed.


Leave a comment

Filed under Flash Fiction

Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s