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.