Friday, August 26, 2016

100 Words a Day 911

The door creaked open, exposing a dim, dingy bar with a perpetual haze of smoke making it look like something out of a bad dream. I headed towards the bar, squeezing between the dirty tables and the dregs of humanity drinking there.


I had been leaning on sticky bar top for a few moments when I felt a rough tug on my sleeve. I turned and found myself face to face with a grotesque man of indeterminate age. He pointed awkwardly at a table in the back where a man sat, shrouded in a formless, trench coat blotchy in color.

No comments:

Post a Comment