Barker Ajax walked in the door. His eyes slowly adjusted to the dark interior and there she was, like the center of a dim spotlight.
Everything else about the joint looked just like it had yesterday, just like last week, just like last year.
Except for her. She was new. Appeared passed out. Bad for business, unless you are trying to attract necrophiliacs.
Wonder what music they dance to.
Uncle Tom, the bartender, rushed over. Thank God, you got here, thank God, you came. Thank God.
The guy was normally a rock – he is a rock – he was also a softie. Just seemed a bit over the top, that’s all. Seen a drunk before.
She seemed fine. Perfectly fine. Then she just dropped. Face first. On the bar. Couple seconds later, I see her licking up her spilled drink.
What was she drinking?
An Alien Brain Hemorrhage.
Remind me again what’s in that.
Peach Schnapps, Bailey’s, splash Blue Curacao, splash Grenadine.
Sounds disgusting.
Looks awesome. Like an atomic bomb went off in your glass. The kids love it.
Looks like she’s had too much love. You can’t just leave her there.
Oh, that just happened. No, really. Sorta. Her head dropped just as you walked in.
Put her on the couch in my office. No, wait. Do we know how old she is?
She showed me ID, looked good. Says she’s twenty-one.
Also said, she’s your daughter.
Suppose next, you’re gonna tell me she has a German accent.
Gesundheit, mein herr.