Fun Comes To Die – by Shannon Thompson

This girl was out of place.  She wasn’t a virgin, but she also wasn’t to the stage of most of the other female patrons.  She seemed like she was looking for something or someone.

“Can I help you?” I asked.
“Can I have a Bud draft please?” She replied.  She isn’t from around here, nobody orders a draft in this place.
“Yeah, I am gonna need to see some ID.”

She handed me a Minnesota drivers license.  She was twenty-four, I had guessed twenty-nine.  That is a little game I like to play on slower nights to pass the time.  When it’s busy I barely look at it, let alone guess.  Tonight was slow.  Which made her appearance here even more bizarre.

Sometimes, when it’s busy the occasional young person or people will wander in.  They hear the jukebox and laughter and mistake it for fun.  This isn’t about fun for most of these people.  It’s about trying to recapture fun.  Some where, for most of these people, fun fled their lives.  It ran away with time, age and money.  Now they spend every day using their fives and tens as bait for fun.  Trying to lure him in.  He peeks his head in sometimes to make  sure no one really wants him there, and then he is gone.

Maybe that is what she is doing here.  Waiting for fun to show up.  I don’t have the heart to tell her he isn’t welcome here anymore.

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