In her shoes

This story…

The Rackster

The drink in her hand was as bitter as she was. Accustomed to its bitterness she took one large gulp. I was watching her face, not even a grimace or a wince. What would make a woman this numb to pain? Her eyes told a story – a story I was going to narrate.

Raising her hand she summoned the bartender, asked for two cigarettes looked at me and smiled.

“I hope you don’t mind”

You see the bill was on me. I nodded and gave her my approval. Minutes later they arrived, two white sticks –

Dunhill I think. For a hooker she got class. From the depths of her showing cleavage she rummaged for a lighter, clicked it twice and sparks flickered like the choking flames of a dying ember – she must have used it one too many times.

“Got a light?” She unexpectedly asked me.

She…

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