Moscow Mule -Original Short Story 

My mental clarity wavers often. I allude to nothing.
“Hey, Marty! You want another Moscow Mule?” Sloan asked me. Her cleavage shimmered under the light.

“No thanks. What I would like is a date with you, sweet thing.” I replied.

“Oh please!” You wouldn’t even know what to do with me, Marty!”

Sloan wiped clean the table next to mine. She winked at me while doing it. She always winked at customers.
“I’m pretty sure I can think of a couple things to do with you.” I chewed on a breadstick and pretended to be interested in the basketball game on T.V. 
“You’re so nasty, Marty!”

Sloan smiled then walked back towards the bar.
Interesting thoughts invaded my consciousness. I tried to think of something else but found it difficult.

The memory of my pet turtle, Spartacus, flashed before me for some reason. I was eight years old when he ran away to join the circus. 

He didn’t really join the circus. That’s just what I told myself to cheer myself up. Though, he was a pretty clever turtle. 
“Hey, buddy!” You don’t wanna’ mess with Sloan. She’s a wild succubus.” An overweight bearded guy commented from the booth behind me.

“Oh really? I figured as much. I’m not looking for anything serious.” I replied then bit into a lime wedge.
A group of inebriated basketball fans cheered loudly at the sight of their team winning.
“Today’s your lucky day, Marty! My shift just ended. So, what do you say we go back to my place?” Sloan grabbed my hand and gently squeezed.

“If we must, we must.” I slapped her buttocks as we walked out into the parking lot.
My mental clarity wavered again. I then awoke from my alcohol induced fantasy. That was the last time I had a Moscow Mule.


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