Breadcrumb #541

FRANCINE WITTE

5 o’clock and Sarah on a bar stool. This is how the evening starts.

     It ends with Sarah’s boyfriend, Sam, buck dead on the floor.

    Let’s connect the dots.

    Let’s start with Sarah’s ringless hand gripping a beer mug. Spidery fingers and her eye on the door. 

    At 5:15, in walks Sam. Work still in his hair. Slicked-back and perfect That’s Sam, she thinks. But damn, he’s hot.

     Sam walks over to Sarah, “Hey babe,” he says. He says this in his presentation voice. Modulated. Pitch-perfect. 

    “Rough day?” Sarah asks, leaning in, and into his ear she whispers, “How about some rough sex?” She leans back, smiles and sips her beer. Somehow she didn’t catch other-woman stink.

“She leans back, smiles and sips her beer.”

    “Kind of tired,” Sam says. “How ‘bout tomorrow?” He winks. “Wanna have it just right for my cowgirl.”

    Okay, so maybe Sarah didn’t need to bring her gun as much as she thought.

    She wishes she could buy her gun a beer. Y’know, take it out of her beaded clutch, honk it on the bar and treat it like the good, reliable friend it is.

    Do we really need more dots? We already know where this is going. More beer, gun finally out, Sam on the barroom floor?

    But here it is anyway. Just moments before, Sam’s moving mouth, blah, blah, blah and there it is -- the smudgy lipstick he forgot to wipe off. 

And Sarah chugging the rest of her beer.

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