“I love you Chuck, baby, but this is not my bar.”
“Oh… okay.”
“Goodbye.”
“Good–” Chuck looked around — no blonde. More chicks in the joint where that came from, though. There’s a red haired one back there, a black haired one over there. Looks too smart for me. I think I’ll choose the red.
—–
Later:
“No one, *sob*, danced with me!”
“Aww, Ferrn. You still got me. Your old friend Bookie!”
“*Sniff*. Thanks.”
“Here. Use one of my pages as a handkerchief. Go ahead. It won’t hurt.”
Ripp. BLOWWWW.
—–
A soggy, wadded up piece of paper appears between Shelley’s legs, waking her up.
Sunklands 