The Bar, The Stool, and The Strangers.

Elenore walked into the bar, and noticed that her favorite stool was taken up by a rather strange looking man.
This would not do.

“Excuse me,” she said as she slammed her clutch on the bar counter top. “This is my seat.”
The man looked up into her dark eyes and winked, “Have we met before?”
“Yes, Im a receptionist at the V.D clinic,” Elenore tartly replied.
“Oh come on, I know how to please a woman.”
“Then please leave me alone.”
“Baby, what’s your sign? Im guessing a scorpio.”
“Wrong. It’s DO NOT ENTER.”
“Girl are you from Jamaica, because ja-makin-me hot!”
“Hmph, that must be the essence of hell I brought along with me.”
The man smiled and ordered another shot, “Is your daddy retarded, because you’re special.”
“No actually, he’s the owner of this bar.”
The bartender behind the counter leaned in close to the mans face, shot in hand.
“And I’m her older brother,” he said as he flexed his arm muscle.

The man smiled, and slid off the stool.
“Well goodnight then…”
Elenore smirked, “Yeah, whatever.”

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