Ficly

Sometimes It Works

He walks into the bar, filled with false bravado as pick-up lines run through his head.
He scans the room, searching for the perfect candidate.
At the bar sits a raven-haired beauty hiding behind her locks, sullen, not talking to anyone. He sidles over, wetting his lips.
“Hey, babe. Are you jamaican? ‘Cause ja-makin’ me crazy!” A boisterous laugh escapes him.
As his laughter dies down, the silence grows. Just when he’s starting to get uncomfortable, she turns her face towards him.
She’s impossibly pale. Almost transparent. Except for her eyes.
She stares at him, seeming to search his soul.
Shifting uneasily from one foot to the other, he blurts out, “I lost my number. Can I have yours?”
She only continues to stare, unblinking.
He pivots on his heels, prepared to fade into the smoke, when her hand lands on his shoulder. He stiffens, ready for the confrontation.
“Buy me a drink?” she purrs into his ear.

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