Bad Boys
By GC SMITH
The stench of flatus permeated the barroom. Beer swilling rednecks stood around in groups of four and five and hurled obscenities toward the naked pole dancer on the grime encrusted stage. She squatted and farted, adding to the general atmosphere of the joint. An irritated behemoth in a muscle shirt charged the stage and scooped the ecdysiast up into his prison workout arms. Irritated she spat at his face, a stupid move. He hurled her into the crowd. The ignorant jackasses grabbed her and stretched her out on top of the green felt covering on the pool table.
April, next up on the stage stepped back momentarily into the closet that served as a dressing room. She carried a nine millimeter Beretta in her handbag.
She would use that handgun.
Poetry, prose, and other stuff meant for the reader's enjoyment. Web page at: Click here. My novels are White Lightning, The Carbon Steel Caress, In Good Faith, and Mudbug Tales; A Novel in Flashes, wit' recipes. My poetry book is A Southern Boy's Meanderings. CLICKY My webpage:
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