Just a Taste
“What I’m thinking,” said Carlisle to the barman, “is that you’re a thief.” The barman blinked at her. “Say what?” “Because I know a thief when I see one,” she said, her words slurring just a little. She leaned forward over the bar. “Serious… Seriously? Twenty bucks for a shot of Jack is theft.” “You could drink somewhere else,” said the barman. “Free country.” Carlisle gave a long, lazy smile. “Free country.” Only bar in this town. If you can call it a town. She’d heard of three-horse towns, and this place was two horses short. No one else was in the bar tonight, the broken down old jukebox spitting out the same two songs on repeat. She’d had about as much Johnny Cash as she could take. The door to the bar opened behind her, and she felt a Read More …