"One extra dry martini please. Oh hey wait! Make that two. And keep them comin"

She slid a hundred dollar bill across the table the way she slid the knife across my throat. Hesitant but then full force. No matter how many martinis that bartender slid across that counter, she always looked like she could use another. No matter how long ago she finished her cigarette, she could smoke another. She took everything beautiful in her life with a grimace but killed me with a smile. Her lips haunt my dreams. And her hands grip my throat. Maybe one day she'll finally get drunk enough to tell me all the things she's too scared to say sober.