Nessy Nickerson slid in to Grump’s Tank quietly unannounced. As always it took fellow bar patrons a few moments to notice him. His quiet walk, quick movements, and predatory tendencies made his presence unknown and unnerving. Most of all like him, it was unmistakable.
“Mom,” Annette called out. Walking into the kitchen she saw her mother and her father standing there. They had long since divorced, but they were still active members of each other’s lives. “Hi everyone,” Annette said slowly. “Hello Annette,” her father said, gently putting his hand on her mother’s shoulder. Her mother didn’t leave her…
“We don’t have to go out for drinks tonight, if you don’t feel up to it,” Ben asked as he finished summarizing the plans for the night. “It’s okay,” Annette said waving him off, “seriously. It was a vulgar attempt to wield his imagined power over me while simultaneously trying to make me feel inconsequential.”…
They had ran into each other at the bar. Not on purpose, just as a natural occurrence. A handful of companies from the building all hit up the Yellow Lighthouse on somewhat regular basis. Some of her co-workers opted for the Backyard Grille while others headed instead to the hotel bar down the block. Every…
Annette had been sitting at her desk politely grumbling about her coworker’s ineptitude when her phone had dinged. There were few people she talked to during the day. Figuring it was probably her boyfriend, one of her friends, or group text she let it sit for a minute. She had already spent ten minutes trying…
“And it’s disgusting how little that you try, the existential equivalent of pink eye,” Alex slammed his phone down on the table. It was one thing to be a bitch, it was another to be a pretentious artsy type of bitch. That was exactly what Melanie was… a faker, a fraud, a wannabe poet and full time bitch. It wasn’t that Alex didn’t try, it was that anything less than over romanticized, under developed, imaginary prince in disguise wasn’t good enough for her. Or any of her band of bimbos and brainiacs alike. Like everything else she did. Melanie didn’t judge her friends by their intentions, intelligence, or interests, only by their perceived personalities. Their power, pull, or persuasion. Basically half of her friends were illiterate sluts while the other half were intellectual experimenters, all of them striving to fit into a golden mold with a golden boy.