🪓Darling. Light of my life. I'm not going to hurt you. You didn't let me finish my sentence. I said, I'm not gonna hurt you. I'm just going to bash your brains in. I'm going to bash them right the fuck in 🪓
"Here's Johnny!"
The disturbing and hau...
Charlie trudged into the empty Gold Ballroom, as if he was walking through mud.
He slid onto a stool and put his head in his hands. He could feel his scratchy facial scruff against his fingertips, shaving hadn't exactly been on his mind lately. He sighed, as if he wasn't the one speaking, "God, I'd give anything for a drink. I'd give my goddamned soul for just a glass of beer."
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Charlie let his hands fall to the bar and his eyes lit up slightly. "Hi, Lloyd. I'm back. Little slow tonight, isn't it?" His face brightened as he laughed manically. He had wide open eyes, and raised eyebrows. He showed off his teeth like a hunting animal about to devour his prey. A reckless mixture of animal instincts, maliciousness, greed, lust, and wrath.
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Lloyd the bartender was standing in front of Charlie, wearing a bow tie and a burgundy suit that resembled the 1940's. He smiled softly at Charlie and said, "yes, it is, Mr. Reynolds. What will it be?"
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"I'm awfully glad you asked me that, Lloyd. But, I'm afraid my money is up in my room," Charlie said, then cursed under his breath. His reclaimed one-year chip was dancing in his pocket as he spoke.
"Your money is no good here," Lloyd reassured. "It's on the house."
"That's swell. I like you, Lloyd. I always liked you. You were always the best of 'em. Best god-damn bartender from Timbuktu to Portland, Maine—or Portland, Oregon, for that matter."
