Flash Fiction : A Touch of Green! by Begin Again |
Hattie loved to people watch. In forty years, she'd seen everything. A nightly fixture at the bar, she owned the corner stool. The bartender served her favorite drink - creme de menthe and Irish whiskey. "Are they younger or are we getting old?" she sighed. "Old? Not a gray hair on your head," Frank grinned. "Thanks to Clairol," she laughed. Later, she toddled to the bathroom. Envious, she listened to the young girls' banter. "I'm getting old." One stared at her reflection. "No, it's the lighting," her friend assured. Temptation tugged at Hattie's funny bone. She whispered, "It's the drinks. I was twenty-one when I first walked through the door."
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