Flash in the Pan at the Piedmont Grille

On Today's Menu -- Another little flash

Last week, I posted a piece of what I call 'flash fiction'. (Which I can't link to because the title is the same so if you want, you can scroll down.) I don't really know if that's what it is, I tend to make up my own rules -- this is my blog after all.

But because you liked it, and I hate to leave you all hanging, I decided to post another little blurby thing from this book. (Yes, it is a book, although not something I'm dedicating myself to really writing just yet.)

Rating PG (Although the content might be a little edgy for some)

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He sat at the bar, scraping the peel off his Bud bottle. The members of his crew had gone off in search of local delights, and if none were forthcoming, they’d mentioned they’d go to the cathouse across the railroad tracks. Danny’d asked him to go out of courtesy, he was the boss, but he was not particularly keen on the idea. He had nothing against the profession, or the girls, he just didn’t like to pay for what he had always gotten free.

Love had never entered into the equation. After Maria, he’d stopped believing in it. He didn’t need it, didn’t want it, his job wouldn’t allow it. He was on the road forty-eight weeks of the year, and he liked it that way. One-night stands were his specialty.

He didn’t know why he’d asked the girl at the pizza joint for a drink. The invitation had nothing to do with sex. He knew he wouldn’t sleep with her. He just wanted to talk to her for a reason he couldn’t name. He liked the look of her. Sun-drenched, beachy, she smelled like Coppertone. They were a day and half from the Pacific coast, but he could tell her tan wasn’t store-bought.

Long legged, brunette, with a rack that held more than a mouthful, she wasn’t especially his type. He liked his women, short, petite, blonde. But the girl had that East Coast accent and even if he didn’t know her, she seemed familiar. She lived in the places he had for a time, and that made her different. He was curious to know how she’d ended up here, in this God-forsaken place.

The bartender nodded in his direction. He shook his head no. Five came early in the morning and it was near on ten. He glanced at his watch – 9:52. Yeah, he’d call it a night. He and Stash had driven the better part of four-hundred miles that day and he was exhausted. Set-up at the site tomorrow would be a bitch. Supposed to be in the high 90’s, and if they didn’t find a coil of snakes drilling, it would be a first. He edged off the stool, sucked the last of his beer, and placed the empty bottle on the coaster. Fingering his money, he left three dollars on the bar for a tip.

“Hi,” she said. “Sorry I’m so late. Last minute order right when I was closing.”