Louis Stawski looked down listlessly into his beer and sighed at the bar counter. He took one final swig from his fourth bottle and propped himself up with his free hand, laying the bottle to rest bottom up with the other dead ones. He could cut through all that green glass as easy as a woodcutter among green elms.
"Another one, barkeep," he called, raising his hand.
"Come on. I think that's enough, don't you?"
Lou moved closer to him, inches away from his face. "Like shit!" he snarled.
"Now, if I remember correctly, you didn't even pay for last week's tab!" the barkeep said, rolling up his shirt sleeves.
Lou waved him off casually and stood up, dusting himself down. "To hell with you! I'm going for a piss."
He sauntered into the crapper and stood inside a cubicle with no door attached to the hinges and was greeted by himself once he'd managed to wrestle his cock free from his pants. He breathed in, then out. Lou was a man of sixty-four with greying reddish hair pasted to an almost Nubian skull and wrinkles wrought into his face by a combination of many years' worth of hard living and age. He stared down and poked around at his beer paunch before leaving.
Approaching his usual seat, he found that a woman had taken the one adjacent. She was a cute but tired looking little thing. Young, wiry, redhead, upturned nose, cracked lips...
"Hey, who are you?" Lou spoke up, edging closer to her.
"Uh, oh...umm...my name is—" she began.
