Girl Walks Into a Bar Page #2

How do you know I'm not one?

That's a good point.

Maybe you flash guys and take

them for all they're worth.

You'll never know.

But what I love most

of all is photography.

Some of my teachers say I

have a real knack for it.

I get myself into dangerous situations

and document them

People seem to trust me.

Like gang bangers and

bikers, weird-ass freaks

who by all means should be

kicking the crap out of me.

They don't find me threatening.

They tell me stuff.

It's a weird talent.

What?

You remind me of my ex-husband.

No, he had some good qualities.

Okay, he's a son of a b*tch,

but he once had a great ass

Wow, I feel objectified here.

Tell me the truth,

did you pick the bathroom lock earlier?

Because I know for a

fact that I locked it.

That sounds all wrong.

Truth is I was just

looking for an excuse

to talk to you.

You weren't trying to get

into the bathroom with me?

No, that's not very gentleman-like.

Not to mention unhygienic.

On that note, I'll be right back.

Which way did he go?

I don't know.

She just walked out on her bill.

- Is he a regular?

- No.

Hey, your friend said you'd settle it.

He is not my friend.

Well you looked pretty friendly to me.

Yeah, well, he stole my wallet

with my keys, everything.

Jesus, do you want me to call the cops?

No! no cops

You have never seen him before?

No

I have.

- Really?

- Yeah, a couple weeks ago,

I saw him hitting on this

little hottie at the Tonga Hut.

Okay, do you know her name?

No, but she has a

tattoo on her shoulder.

it says "Lucky you "

Listen, here is my number,

you hear anything, you call me.

And the tab?

I just told you he stole my wallet.

Yeah so you say

- What, you think this

is some elaborate routine

to not pay you, I'm a cop.

- You're a

cop? - Ex-cop.

And he stole your wallet.

Save it, I'll find him,

I'll be back in an hour.

Teri:
The roaming eye alights

a solitary, young woman

walking through a den of ill repute.

You know this place or

surely know one like it.

These so-called palaces of sin

where young women in flimsy

underwear gyrate robotically

while male patrons with an otherwise

catastrophically moldy grasp of

male-female communication skills

try out their studliest one-liners

amidst a barrage of staring

and drooling and wagging of tongues.

The clientele at these places

is fairly interchangeable.

You've met one peeler bar

customer, you've met them all.

These guys seem to only listen

to Motley Crew or maybe Zeppelin

and love to play golf.

They usually vote for the

most conservative politician

as long as he looks

and sounds like a jock.

Now that we've established our setting,

let me take this opportunity

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