“What’s it gonna be, big man?” the flirty bartender inquired. I looked her up and down and mumbled “Jack and coke- make it a double.”
“Coming right up!” The girl swung her hips as she went to fix my drink and I slightly leaned back, to check out the bar’s patrons. It was tourist season here in the Moondocks, and unsurprisingly, the Vineyard Vines-wearing crowd had found their way to one of the only few tourist-safe bars left in town. They parked their ritzy boats out on the dock almost a mile away and still found their way to this obscure joint, far off the road.
I blame it on the too-cheap drinks. Rich people would always find their way to a good deal no matter what, though the lakeside bars charging $15 for a beer weren’t doing so bad themselves.
The girl returned with my glass and co
