By kiki
The bar was one of those low-life dives where time seemed to stand still. Cigarette smoke hung thick in the air, with the odor of spilled beer and dried piss adding to the unhealthy mix. The tables were worn and scarred. The vinyl upholstery on the chairs and barstools was torn and duct-taped together in spots.
The customers, primarily regulars propped on sagging stools that just as well have had their names written on them, were a dodgy-looking bunch of characters, as was the bartender, a woman with multiple tattoos, and the dubious handle of Lady.
No comments:
Post a Comment