Pancake Eyes

George took another swig.  Her eyes searching him, he shook his head “No.”

“Then what do you want?”

He offered her another swig.  She refused.  He held the flask toward her.  She took it and sipped like a Catholic school girl sneaking her first taste of stolen wine.  She coughed a bit and handed it back over.

“Honey, this is getting weird.  Just tell me what you want.”

He handed her another bill.  In ten minutes, she had earned three hundred dollars.  Her face held more disbelief than anything.  Most strangers in a '92 Toyota Camry with bald tires and a blue passenger door on a red body and dressed in an AC/DC shirt and holy jeans not only did not carry a lot of cash, but held onto it with their oil stained fingers.

“Once again, you're so sweet.  But-

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