The Time an Old Man Hit on Me

Photo by Moss on Unsplash

approached the bar, cash securely in my hand. The female barkeep was bustling about, deftly juggling glasses that didn’t quite look clean and multiple bottles of bottom-shelf liquor.

“I’ll be with you in a moment,” she hollered, without turning to look at me. Bartenders apparently have eyes in the back of their heads.



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Rachel Wayne

Artist/anthropologist/aerialist writing about art, media, culture, health, science, enterprise, and where they all meet. Join my list: