Sick Dixie

He sat in the far back corner. Sucking down nicotine courtesy of Marlboro. Faded green Eagles hat and typical college guy striped shirt. He looked up at me as I swaggered my way to his table.

He tilted his head and looked up at me as I towered over him with my 7 inch platforms. Eyes glassy.

"You're gonna kill me aren't you?"

He chuckled and ashed his cigarette in a way that only a cocky bastard like he is could do.

"What do you want to drink?"

Coors Light. I answered that one myself.

I returned to his table with a drink. We sat we talked about life and strippers and money and. It was all too much me sitting there wasting my time talking to him. Feeling that I needed to feed him all the attention I could muster up.

After I left I crawled into the back. $60 to show for a night of work. I had a headache and a runny nose and no motivation to continue working. I left. I didn't say anything. Just got changed and left.

I am broke. I have a terrible cold and all I really want are some fucking flowers and an Hermes scarf. No, that's not what I want. I'm exhausted and the lack of creative energy is mainly due to the fact that I am terribly ill and I need a vacation.

I think I need a day in bed to watch movies and drink tea. Anyone care to play naughty nurse for me?