Hey check out my entry for the Weekly Writing Challenge 


     He was deep into his tab: the bilingual over-tipper who liked to tip over the bar chairs.  “Uno mas, hey, wass your name brudda?” Sunday night, it was atypical: there’s always one who goes too far or drinks too much and consequentially spends too much.  “Two Coronas,” then “sure”, I said. That was last night’s anti-hero; he was drunk but I empathized because I understood the sadness. 

     It always comes in stages and he was just about in the final stage: the tears, the shots, and finally the apologies.  Well, he was two for three.  We’ve all been there but I had a feeling he had been stewing too long.  You can always tell when a man has had his fill.

    He starts to hug everyone right about the same time he becomes afraid that he’s about to lose everyone; I don’t think he’s there, though.  I like to picture him callous and immune from the girls and the vampiric fucking things that they do.


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