cynthiasnow (cynthiasnow) wrote in etwentyten,

Assignment # 3

Out of the corner of my eye I notice him. Rugged. Heavyset. About fifty years old. His hair and beard distinctly peppered with grey, yet I can see traces of black peeking through.  His burly arms are covered with tattoos of large breasted women, snakes and some religious symbols. He is wearing a Harley Davidson leather jacket, blue jeans and a red, patterned bandana around his neck.


I’ll call him Bubba. He leans against a narrow table with a Labatt’s Blue in his hand. Bubba chats loudly with another man who is dressed the same way. They are playing pool on a well worn table where the green felt is frayed in many areas.  The lights are dim and the balls scatter as Bubba breaks.  Suddenly, our eyes meet. He lays his pool stick against the table, grabs his beer and walks toward me.  Is he coming to talk to me?  I swivel on my chair, face the bar and take a sip of my drink.  “You lost, little lady?” I freeze. I smell beer and stale cigarette smoke from him.  He slams his beer on the table next to me. I jump.  Bubba’s pool friend chuckles. I begin to perspire. The neon signs begin to blur around me.  “Hey”. He leans closer. “You lost?”  “No”, I whisper hoarsely.  Once again he laughs. “I’m the manager here at The Dark Zone lounge. I think the friends you are looking for are in the private party room”.  As I turn in the direction of the room he grabs my arm…

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