Post by Dylan Miller on Aug 23, 2009 3:42:57 GMT
Dylan sighed as he leaned back against he back of the bar, surveying the rather empty room. It was a Monday night, so he couldn't be surprised it was slow. But even by the standards of a Monday night, it was intolerably slow. Even the regulars were scarce tonight. He would be lucky if he made a dollar in tips by the end of the evening, he was quite sure of it. He must have cleaned every single cup in the bar (but for the few in use).
Dylan spent a few minutes pacing, before he decided to return to useful endeavors and inventory the booze. It occurred to him he was going to be hard pressed even to find a meal tonight, and he was beginning to feel the hunger set it. Not too strong, not yet - he made a habit of staying well fed. But there was a sort of uneasiness in his veins like a limb going to sleep, which promised pain if not attended to. Since it was quiet anyhow, and he'd just recently refilled most everyone's drinks, he got one of the girls to cover the bar for him.
Dylan fished a cigarette case and box of matches from his pocket as he stepped outside. A smoke would at least ease some of the tension, and perhaps he could track down a bit of a morsel before he went back in. There was certainly no rush. He stepped into the back alley and lit his match, awakening an acrid, chemical odor for a moment, and lit his cigarette, putting it to his lips and holding it in place while he restored the case to his pocket and took a measured draw off of the wonderful tobacco-filled delight.
Dylan spent a few minutes pacing, before he decided to return to useful endeavors and inventory the booze. It occurred to him he was going to be hard pressed even to find a meal tonight, and he was beginning to feel the hunger set it. Not too strong, not yet - he made a habit of staying well fed. But there was a sort of uneasiness in his veins like a limb going to sleep, which promised pain if not attended to. Since it was quiet anyhow, and he'd just recently refilled most everyone's drinks, he got one of the girls to cover the bar for him.
Dylan fished a cigarette case and box of matches from his pocket as he stepped outside. A smoke would at least ease some of the tension, and perhaps he could track down a bit of a morsel before he went back in. There was certainly no rush. He stepped into the back alley and lit his match, awakening an acrid, chemical odor for a moment, and lit his cigarette, putting it to his lips and holding it in place while he restored the case to his pocket and took a measured draw off of the wonderful tobacco-filled delight.