What, in fact, happened, I told her, in as polite a tone as possible, “I’ll try to do better next week,” and left the bullpen headed to the time...clock and then to Mike’s Place. I drowned my sorrows at the local watering hole, giving Sam, the bartender, an earful of work woes.Leaving the joint and feeling somewhat better, at 10:30. Too fucking early, to call it quits, on a Friday night. Getting in my car, I started the engine, slipped it into gear, and wondered what I could do for fun. Driving. “We need to hurry up and leave,” I tell her grabbing her clothes and handing them to her.“I need to pay the bill,” Wilma informs me only putting on her leather skirt and torn tank top.I follow her out of the room and am careful not to touch anything as we head to the front desk, fuck the bill I say it’s not worth the jail time. I follow her into the office and watch her walk behind the counter and into the door labeled manager. I stand there feeling kind of stupid and note that douchbag’s car. More

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