Sketchy At Best (Excerpt)

Two guys playing pool in a sorta smoky bar. Throughout the story, they’re taking shots, drinks, and maybe puffing the occasional cigarette.

MIKE-
Goddammit.

JOEL-
What?

MIKE is pointing.

MIKE-
By the DJ.

JOEL-
Yeah, she’s cute, what’s your point?

MIKE-
Look at the guy she’s dry humping.

MIKE’S right. The guy’s fairly unattractive.

JOEL-
…yeah?

MIKE-
C’mon. I know I’m not the best looking guy on the planet, but I know that I’m more attractive than that motherfucker.

JOEL-
Then go talk to her.

MIKE-
I left my crowbar at home.

JOEL-
Jesus Christ. What about her?

MIKE-
Where?

JOEL-
By the cigarette machine.

An attractive redhead is standing alone by the cancer-dispensing machine.

MIKE-
You know I’m too shy to actually talk to her.

JOEL-
Bullshit. You’re too shy to actually start the conversation. C’mon, you know once you get started, you’ll be fine.

MIKE-
Yeah, well, I don’t want to come off as some creep who’s been watching her half the night from across the bar. I’ll be lucky if I don’t get a faceful of pepper spray.

JOEL-
You want me to bring her over here?

MIKE-
Like that’s any better. “Hey, I’m so pathetic my friend has to actually initiate the conversation.” Oh, yeah, she’ll be all over me with that one.

JOEL-
Great, I’ll go get her.

MIKE throws his pool cue onto the table and grabs JOEL’S arm.

MIKE-
NO! Fine. I’ll go talk to her. Happy?

JOEL-
As long as it shuts you the hell up.

MIKE is walking off, towards the redhead.

MIKE-
I hate you.

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