It didn’t even look like a bar from the outside.  A neon sign flickered in the window, but there was nothing over the door.  A few people stood outside smoking cigarettes.

We were on a poorly lit side-street in a bad neighborhood – the kind of place where drunks and prostitutes live in weekly rentals.

The bar was close quarters inside, full of hard drunks.  Punks.  Blue-collar labor.  Fist-fights waiting to happen.  One string of rope lights lit the whole place.  I could smell piss over the cigarette smoke.  My boots clung to the floor from spilled beer and old puke.

The bartender was a heavyset blonde.  She came down to us and pushed her big tits up on the bar.  She leaned forward, openly solicitous.

“What can I do for you guys?”

I ordered shots and beer.  She set three rocks glasses on the bar, pouring with a heavy hand.  I handed one to Hack, and picked up my own.  The bartender raised hers and toasted:

“To Honor . . .

“If you can’t come in her, come on her . . . “

She brought our beers.  I tried to hand her money but she shook her head.

-     –     -

My name is Max, and I’m looking for a good bad time.

Who is Fucking Inappropriate?

Who is Max?