Old City Bar
Copyright© 2018 by Armera Llsehi
Chapter 4
Fiction Sex Story: Chapter 4 - Two lives are entwined yet cross only in a single night at a single moment. But that crossing can change an outlook, even so grim, for helping a neighbor, even a stranger, can be the greatest gift.
Caution: This Fiction Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Ma/ft Coercion Consensual NonConsensual Reluctant Slavery Heterosexual Fiction
Working in a bar seems kind of counterproductive considering that his wife was killed by a drunk leaving the bar. But for Robert, it’s a kind of therapy. And at least the scum that thrives in a place like this is better than most outside the place. But regardless of his choice of work, the holidays are always the worst. It serves to remind him of the dregs of society, the forgotten or unwanted, the uncared for and ignored. On the television behind the bar, hanging above his head only serves to remind the world of this fact.
“Hey, bartender,” an elderly man says with a wave to catch Robert’s attention. “Give me another.”
The man shakes his head. “Sorry, Glen, but I can’t.”
“Well, why the fuck not?” Glen asks, his words slurry.
“It’s the rules,” Robert replies. “As much as I hate this fucking place, I need it. If I break the rules then I’ll be out on my ass like you.”
“On my ass?” the elderly man asks. “I ain’t one of those piss drunks that kill people lie that fucker there.” He then points up at the television.
Robert steps closer to the bar, closer to the man, close enough to smell the putrid smell of alcohol on his breath. On the television is the news and on it is a picture and a story about another drunk driver responsible for killing a couple without children or family just the previous night. Mandy was killed just three days before Christmas. While this family suffered a sorry fate further away from Christmas, they suffered the same. And what does the guy get? Nothing. Why? Because he is dead too. Dead after driving on his fourth DUI and license suspension. “Fucking politicians,” Robert murmurs.
“What’s that?” the old man asks.
The bartender glares at the man and sneers, “I said, fucking politicians. They make all these laws, but they don’t give a shit. They fill their pockets with money and don’t give a shit unless something happens to one of them.”
“What’s got you all upset?” the drunkard asks.
“What’s got me upset?” Robert counters, slamming his hands down on the counter in front of the man. “I’m upset because one of you assholes got wasted and murdered my wife. I’m upset that that mother fucker got off on a technicality even though everyone knew he was guilt. I’m fucking upset that the son of a bitch killed himself before he could be charged again.”
“I don’t need this shit,” Glen says, scooping up his keys and heading for the door.
“Hey!” Robert shouts after him.
Glen turns around and snarls. “What you going to take my keys from me?”
The bartender shakes his head. “Nothing of the sort, you old bastard,” he says. “Go kill some kid and see if you can live with it.” With that, he turns back to the television and switches the channel.
In an old city bar, that is never too far from the places that gather the dreams that have been. In the safety of night, with its old neon light, it beckons to strangers and they always come in. And the snow it is falling. The music is low and the night: Christmas Eve. And here is the danger, that even with strangers, inside of this night it is easier to believe.
