It was late that evening when I heard the expensive powerboats arrive at the moorings outside my bar for a night of cheap debauchery. And why shouldn’t they slum with us occasionally? After all, our men and women know what to do for those college girls and college boys. And the drink I serve is a lot cheaper than in their fancy yacht club bars.
One girl was different. I could tell from the way she looked at me and the sweet way she smiled. Her name was Angela.
Every evening I look across the water and hope. Waiting for Angela.
This for Friday Fictioneers.