Congratulations Glass Eye Sam!

Whiskey goes up, whiskey goes down. Them’s the breaks, as you like to say. You don’t say it to anyone in particular, you just mutter it to yourself under your breath at the bar where you drink alone. It’s your way, and it always has been.

Until today. Today when a pretty lady in a red dress walk in to your bar and steps up next to you and asks the bar keep for a whiskey, neat. You’ll look her up and down and have one thing to say.

“Pretty lady. Red dress.”

She’ll smile and nod at you.

“Thanks, I think.”

You’ll rasp out a laugh in response while she sits and sips on her whiskey, grimacing occasionally at the taste. It’ll be clear from the particular cut of this red dress, as well as her recently washed skin and hair, that she’s used to a finer life than this one.

“Whaddya doin’ in this shithole, miss?” you’ll ask, your heart aflutter with the best of intentions. Her smile will get wider.

“Just trying to get over something,” she’ll say, sliding her hand down to your thigh.

That’s when you’ll totally freak out and smack her hand away.

“Whoa! I don’t goes for no hanky pank what ain’t with a chinawoman!” you’ll shout at her. Then you’ll pick up your barstool and hurl it across the bar. It’ll land with a clatter and you’ll go off to sit on it, awkwardly squatting on the support struts on the floor. You’ll sit that way a good long while, until the woman leaves and you sit at the bar alone and drink. Like a person. The person you always wanted to be.

Congratulations Glass Eye Sam!