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(The prompt was a photograph of a rock band.)

It happened on a Friday, and most Fridays you’ll find me down at The Pit. I mean, y’gotta cut me some slack, okay? I work hard for a living at the furniture warehouse, and besides, I had three stories rejected that week and The Pit’s a great place to forget about it and let it all hang out.

And speaking about letting it all hang out, there was this broad there... but before I go into that, The Pit was featuring Ingmar Dervish that Friday night. Yes, that Ingmar Dervish and his “River Styx Six.” They used to be called “The Horde” until five of them got sent up for grand larceny theft, leaving the remaining six to carry on. Carryin’ on’s what they do best.

I was sitting there, at the bar - on my third as I recall. I was nursing it, knowing that one more and I’d be doing something I’d be ashamed of, when I saw this blond broad next to me staring into the mirror behind the bar. That way she could see herself as well as the band - like she was a part of it. She had a Paris Hilton stoned look -- like she was made out of brushed chrome. Feverish eyes. Depraved mouth. She held her elbows close to her sides, her hands in the air and her fingers snapping all out of rhythm with the band. She wore a long soft - sort of silver dress that was cut down front all the way to God knows where. What’s more, the sides were open, and you could see more of her than if she was naked.

Without realizing it, I gulped down the rest of my third vodka and lime and smiled at her as seductively as I could. “You come here often,” I asked? It took a while for her to answer, as though she was coming back from a long time in another place. The corners of her painted mouth raised slightly and her eyes seemed to come into focus.

“Where is here,” she asked?

It was a question I’ve asked myself many times. “Here. I mean here at The Pit.”

Although she still held her elbows close to her sides, she stopped her finger snapping and held her palms upward, as though feeling for drops of rain.

“Wherever the Six goes, I go. The Pit’s as good as any other.”

“You like ‘em then? The Six Styx I mean.”

“Oh, they’re boss. I mean listen up... cacophony man!... when Dervish turns it up I’d give it up for anybody.”

Well... that was more like it! It sure sounded like something I could use on a Friday night after a week of rejections.

“Can I buy you a drink, I asked?

“When I said anybody, I didn’t mean you, creep.”

Well, that was the fourth rejection and I don’t need a brick wall to fall on me... I know when I’m not wanted.

The End

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