The moon was going down as the last couple of drunken bar-hops stumbled out of The Rock Inn. It was named The Rock Inn because of it's tattered decor of posters of Elvis and the few Les Paul guitars hanging. The only real performance u got around there was the old 60s muziek that hummed out of the juke box.
My head had been pounding all night. Fed up, I grabbed the bottle of aspirin that sat on the dusty wooden shelves under the bar. Pouring myself a shot of scotch and took them. "They say u shouldn't mix those together," I heard Mallory call over my shoulder. I glanced back at her.
"They also say that hookers should be illegality, but u sure do seem to think it's community service."
She slapped my arm and carried a tray of shot glasses and bier cups into the back. I heard the water start, she was washing dishes. Sighing, I grabbed a bezem and started sweeping up the dust and pinda shells.
. . .
We were winding up the cleaning when I saw gleams of light seep in past the blinds. Matthias and Zeus, our rottweilers, started barking and snarling. Standing behind the counter, I flipped open the gun holster and picked up the silver pistol.
The door busted in, Mallory emerged from the back and looked at them. Two ruggish guys walked in. One around 6'0, blond with hazel eyes. Other 6'4, tan, brown hair, and hazel eyes. "Dean..." Mallory breathed and ran and hugged him. Dean embraced her back and looked down at her, "Hey Mall."
I locked eyes with the taller one for a moment, he seemed to be just as confused as me. The pistol was still tightly wound in my hand.
"Mall.. I gotta talk to you..." Dean said, looking away from her to the taller one.
"Of course..." she walked volgende to me and grabbed a couple of beers and a book, an old raggedy leather thing. Barely holding itself together. She walked to a booth with him and sat down. whispering, their talk covered door the soft hum of the juke box.
I walked to the back and threw away two arm fulls of bier bottles. Turning to leave, black smoke shoved itself down my throat, burning my insides. It felt,for a moment, that I was suffocating and caught on fire. Looking myself in the mirror voluntarily I saw a Q-like shape burned into my left arm. I couldn't control anything... all I could do is watch.
Walking out into the open, the tall one sat at the bar, looking in his glass of vodka. 'I' sat volgende volgende him, "Hey."
"Hello," he said, looking up to me.
"What's your name?"
"Sam... yours?"
"Sage."
My head had been pounding all night. Fed up, I grabbed the bottle of aspirin that sat on the dusty wooden shelves under the bar. Pouring myself a shot of scotch and took them. "They say u shouldn't mix those together," I heard Mallory call over my shoulder. I glanced back at her.
"They also say that hookers should be illegality, but u sure do seem to think it's community service."
She slapped my arm and carried a tray of shot glasses and bier cups into the back. I heard the water start, she was washing dishes. Sighing, I grabbed a bezem and started sweeping up the dust and pinda shells.
. . .
We were winding up the cleaning when I saw gleams of light seep in past the blinds. Matthias and Zeus, our rottweilers, started barking and snarling. Standing behind the counter, I flipped open the gun holster and picked up the silver pistol.
The door busted in, Mallory emerged from the back and looked at them. Two ruggish guys walked in. One around 6'0, blond with hazel eyes. Other 6'4, tan, brown hair, and hazel eyes. "Dean..." Mallory breathed and ran and hugged him. Dean embraced her back and looked down at her, "Hey Mall."
I locked eyes with the taller one for a moment, he seemed to be just as confused as me. The pistol was still tightly wound in my hand.
"Mall.. I gotta talk to you..." Dean said, looking away from her to the taller one.
"Of course..." she walked volgende to me and grabbed a couple of beers and a book, an old raggedy leather thing. Barely holding itself together. She walked to a booth with him and sat down. whispering, their talk covered door the soft hum of the juke box.
I walked to the back and threw away two arm fulls of bier bottles. Turning to leave, black smoke shoved itself down my throat, burning my insides. It felt,for a moment, that I was suffocating and caught on fire. Looking myself in the mirror voluntarily I saw a Q-like shape burned into my left arm. I couldn't control anything... all I could do is watch.
Walking out into the open, the tall one sat at the bar, looking in his glass of vodka. 'I' sat volgende volgende him, "Hey."
"Hello," he said, looking up to me.
"What's your name?"
"Sam... yours?"
"Sage."
