Fuck That Was Good And She's Rightshe IS A...
Wendy ran a practiced eye over his muscular physique beneath the white shirt and tartan kilt, he looked fit and when she raised her eyes to his face she felt slightly aroused. Bright blue eyes seemed to caress her tanned complexion. She hadn’t recalled him being there when she paid her five pound admission fee, maybe he was the afternoon shift. She smiled and his return smile exposed perfect white teeth. He stopped a few feet away and nodded courteously.“We’re closing soon,” he smiled, “how have you enjoyed your visit?”“Fantastic,” she replied and fluffed out her hair, “it’s so old.”“Very old,” he looked past her, “we don’t get many visitors, most of them prefer Stirling or Edinburgh.”“I’ve been to Stirling, and Edinburgh,” she mentally translated his accent, “but I prefer this one,” she glanced around, “it’s more authentic.”“There’s a lot of history here,” he moved past her to the window and she caught a whiff of his cologne, “I’ve often tried to picture what it must have been like. I was pretty much a psychological basket case since the divorce. And seven months after being conditionally declared single, I got the official papers saying the divorce was final. I got drunk, well, why the hell not. A reason to celebrate right! Also a reason to cry my baby-ass eyes out and I did both: drink and sob. The big news was that, as would eventually become clear, things were going to get infinitely worse and that long before they’d be getting better. Well, it was ever thus I fucking supposed.The Silver Spur wasn’t busy when I came in, for the fortieth night in a row. Anymore a good percentage of my paycheck was dedicated to the economic growth of the place. I hadn’t gotten my name engraved on my favorite bar stool yet, but I figured it that to be only a matter of time...“Evening, good buddy,” said Hammond Greeley, head barkeep at the Spur.“You too, Ham,” I said. “Got something around five hundred proof for me?” I said.“Maybe eighty or a hundred, ran out of the heavy stuff,”.
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