Smoke hazed the bar with a stinging fog. Flashing neon lights burned like incessant lightning bugs on the wall. The murmur of various conversations melted into a constant buzz of annoyance. All Gary could do was stare intently at his half empty glass of beer. Seven beers ago he didn’t even notice the conditions around him. All he wanted was to wash out the bile in his mouth and acid in his heart that was caused by the ragged letter clenched in his hand. Five beers later, his anger mellowed to a blue funk. At beer six the ambiance started to work its way in, and at beer seven the cacophony of stimuli hammered his brain like a migraine.
“Stroh’s.” He muttered to himself as he swirled around the amber liquid in the pilsner. “Why can’t they have Stroh’s?”
Gary gulped down the last of the swill before reading the note for the umpteenth time.
Sorry Gary, It’s been fun but Jonny’s single and you’re just not him.
Gary crumpled the letter again in disgust. “Damn you Jonny Depp. How many live will you ruin?”
He signaled for another beer as the wail of a lonely guitar cried from the jukebox.
Brought to you for the Trifecta Challenge.