One of the best unpublished writers in America, dressed to kill and to die.
I followed him.
He walked up to one of the girls and spoke to her.
She pulled her skirt up, swung her high heels and laughed.
They walked over to a booth in a corner.
The bartender came around the bar to take their order.
The other girl at the bar looked at me.
Hey, honey, don't you wanna play?" "Yeah, but only when it's my game." "You scared or queer?" "Both," I said, sitting at the far end of the bar.
There was a guy between us, his head on the bar.
His wallet was gone.
When he awakened and complained, he'd either be thrown out by the bartender or handed over to the police.
