Pancake Eyes

George produced a flask of bourbon.  He removed the lid and swirled it about, taking a sniff.  Her poise softened.

“Hey, I don't drink.  Not on the job.”

George turned up the flask, swished the happy water around in his mouth and swallowed, his Adam's apple thumping in his throat.

“Look, you need to tell me what you want and then we can do this and I can get back to my corner, honey.”

George handed her another bill.  She opened her mouth.  He awaited her protest facts were facts.  But she did this for money.  It turned the tricks and eased the tension and ruined the lives.  She proved no different from the rest, going silent and holding the cash in her hands.  If she was typical, the money would fund a habit she either could not or more likely, would not break.

“Well...this is really sweet.  Are you going to hurt me?”





About me

This is me: home-writer, book-reader, dog-lover and occasional poet. I make this website to share my and my friends texts with You, dear Reader. Please: read carefully, don't be scary, upgrade your mood and be king and leave your comment. :)