Star Whiskey

The chains on her neck danced, clinking together like a sound from another time. I noticed her when she walked in, jangling under the archway. Though the bar was dark and smokey, her flaming red hair drew attention from not just me. It wasn’t as if she was pretty, I mean, maybe some would say so; I wouldn’t though. She didn’t fit into her dress, perhaps it was borrowed from the friends she was with, but I liked them like that. They settled at a table across from me, all five of them in those skimpy little dresses. In fact, not one of them fit into their respective dresses, but that didn’t stop them from putting on pantyhose and heels they can’t walk in. Maybe they thought the heels would make it better. It didn’t.

Each ordering some fruity bullshit drink in turn, she ordered whiskey and downed it in one. A mission to get shitfaced? I hoped so. It seemed as if we had similar missions for the night. At least it was my mission, until she walked in. I wouldn’t blame her either, I mean, looking like that with those girls? Whiskey wouldn’t be enough for me. But we showed up at the same bar, for the same event so what did that say about me? At least I am not here with sluts begging for a fuck.

Although, what would have completed my night more? Drunk sluts sounded ripe for a Friday night haul. I’m sure my buddies wouldn’t complain.

I had gotten up, two whiskeys in my hand and made my way over there for what is my favorite part of my Friday night catch, the lure. I tried catch and release once or twice, but it just doesn’t fit me. I take what I catch and keep it.