He looks to the left, searching for the culprit who stained the bar’s air with that poisonous perfume. It could be any one of these women, with their hair curled and enough lipstick to stain the cocks of the men they would meet later.
As he looked these women over, trying to conceive a picture in his mind of the kind of woman who would be so self-righteous to believe she had the right to invade the stale stink of the establishment, he would constantly catch their eye. Each time they aggressively looked back, a sting would come into his eyelid, giving him the appearance of having a nervous tic. Or worse, winking. A particularly hateful redhead in black lace that just covers her vagina starts towards him.
Oh fuck, he thinks.
Ladies and gentlemen, meet my future ex-wife.
And sometimes it’s like that. You’re hatefully attracted to people who, if of the same gender, you might think about bludgeoning. He grips his tumbler harder now, as she approaches to sit on his lap licking her lips. If someone doesn’t die tonight, his spirit will.
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