Time to Go

A skeletal man eased on a barstool. Big sigh.

“The fuck was that for?” She asked, dripping ash on the bar.

“Been around about enough, I think.”

His boots dropped mud on the parquet floors.

“Yeah,” she said, stamping out her cigarette. “We’ve all been there.”

He leaned too hard then, and forgot the space around himself. Air became a mattress and insults became daydreams. “The what-“

A wrecking ball hit him hard. Took out a couple molars. He spit and laughed.

Then, this dude goes, “I’ll pick ‘em up for ya.” Teeth like marbles on the floor.

The skeletal man laughs right before the uppercut.

Bartender said it’s time to go.