Read by Rish Outfield, say it with me…Dunesteef!
“‘“So, what did she do?”
These are the first words the stranger says to you as he takes the bar stool on your right. The hotel lounge has at least two-dozen seats scattered between the bar and four tables, and only half of those seats are filled. Yet he sits next to you. His voice is almost a growl – all gravel and broken glass – too ragged for someone his age.
Judging from his unblemished skin, you guess the stranger is no more than nineteen or twenty. You search your memories, wondering if he’s one of your students at the college. But no, you would remember him. He’s got an unkempt, patchy beard and dirty, long hair. Everything about him says wannabe hippie or beatnik: his worn boots, his thrift store brown leather jacket, and his dirty grey t-shirt. His eyes are wild, like he’s been chewing on a handful of random pills.
“Who? What are you talking about?” you ask, trying to sound abrupt but not aggressive. You’re not looking for a fight. At least, not with him.
“You got the stink of animosity on you, is all. I can smell it; it’s so strong. It’s not hard to see that you’re pissed at someone.””