Linzi M.
Yelp
It coulda been any night, any town, any dive bar... but he chose Slim Jim's. A backstreet brawler, he'd seen it all, done worse and liked his bars to have attitude. Cracked leather booths, chipped wood tables and pigs' heads on the wall, the jukebox urged him to 'just do it again'. Yeah, yeah this place'd do just fine.
He pulled up a stool at the bar, booze bottles lined the wall, so inviting and welcoming. Was this the kind of place you could lose yourself? Neon signs illuminated the sexy bartender, muscles flexing as she poured a Manhattan. Though he was hardly a cocktails man, he could appreciate their attention to detail, burning orange rind to enhance the flavour.
Checking out the other patrons, it seemed that pants worn pulled down, exposing ass cheek, was the uniform of choice. Yuppie hipsters with Elvis Costello pretensions and expensive laptops leeching off the free wi-fi. What had the world come to... even in a dive like this, he couldn't escape them.
Giving it a closer inspection, he began to have his doubts. Bras decorating the ceiling? Concert posters from the 80s and beyond slapped carefully haphazard on the walls? A widescreen TV silently replaying some organised sport? Nah, this place was trying too hard, dipping its toe in the darkside but unable or unwilling to take the plunge. Downing the remainder in his glass, he headed off into the night once more. A smiled played across his lips, he'd be back.