“…that’s when they said I should leave.” Mike searched the bottom of his glass.
“Hit me again, will ya Sammy?” he pushed his bone-dry shot glass towards the man behind the bar.
Sam popped the top from the bottle and poured another shot.
“Cheers,” he said, scooping up the drink. “You just can’t trust them. None of them. Not a single one.”
Sammy raised an eyebrow.
“Not you Sammy. You’re alright. Hit me again.”
Sam breathed deeply and poured another shot.
Mike nodded in vague appreciation.
“It’s the others.
Hit me.”
Sammy considered it.
He considered it long and hard.
This story, my weekly dip into trying to write something creative, is part of Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle. If you’ve taken the time to read this far then I thank you but please take a few more minutes to go read some of the other wonderful entries.
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