“Another whiskey sour, please.” She taps the glass, which is almost empty and winks playfully at the young bartender. He grins and blushes as he walks away and her eyes follow his swaying tight posterior.
She sighs. She is on a rehab, de-addiction, and convalescence, what ever you want to call it. And it does not help to be in this bustling bar, bustling with youth, energy, drugs, alcohol and the smell of sex wafting off every bead of sweat that falls to the floor. Her ears twitch at the sound of that minute splash and disintegration of bodily fluid as it collides with the smooth floor. Her tongue slowly rotates the inside of her mouth, wishing, hoping that she could taste the sweat that smelled so much of sex.
She had been sober for a month now, the most difficult month in the last ten years. Her hands still…
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