Bissell’s flip-flops stuck to the floor as he walked across the bar. They made a satisfying yet disgusting sound with each step, peeling off the floor over and over.
His drunk friends sent greetings as he passed.
“Bis-ul!”
“Biss-ellll!”
“Hey, sweetheart.” That one always brought a smile to his lips. Sherry was the sweetheart.
Bo the bartender was turning skewers over the natural gas grill behind the bar in between pouring drinks. He reached down and pulled out a yellow can as Bissel approached.
“I only have time for one today,” Bissell said as Bo popped the can open and pushed it across the bar.
“Busy?”
“I have some business to attend to,” the words obscured by the can.
Bo nodded as he pulled the skewers off the grill, plated them, and slid the plate in front of another gwailou at the bar.
Great lines