A bar girl with dark expressive eyes slipped onto the stool next to mine. At least she wasn’t the sort of person who would refer to poetry as “verse.” “I am here to entertain you,” she said, then quickly added, “but only during my shift.” I shrugged and turned back to finishing my beer and watching the game on the TV over the bar. She tried to engage me by telling a riddle: “Why are noses broken on Egyptian statues?” I didn’t respond in case she was wearing a wire. Prison workshops and rural cemeteries are filled with the incautious.
We're the Ezine dedicated to all things barroom. We are slightly off what others consider the norm and always the last to close the bar. If you prefer the local dive bar to the glitz of some overpriced club then you're our kind of people. So welcome grab a drink and enjoy.
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Double Tap By Michael E. Duckwall
Sick smile, angry eyes. A bloody machete in the skull of another who's no longer alive. Undead friends are the hardest to kill. Still ...
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near the on-ramp of I-10 in Crowley, Louisiana we unload our band equipment into the back of Gozzlebeck’s not the real name of the bar but a...
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there is a woman who is sometimes at my local café sitting outside with a glass of white wine and that’s not too unusual but i always notice...
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i’m at an outside table of a bar that has cheap happy hour beer and is a good people-watching and poetry-writing spot / two young women at t...
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