“Whiskey Sour please.”
“How sour you like it?”
“Bitter, but I want to feel the burn of the whiskey.”
“What kind of whiskey, sir?”
“Sir, call me Dan. All that sir crap should be left to the formal audiences. Do I look formal to you?”
“Umm well the shirt and tie maybe give you away.”
“You call this formal. More like a uniform of pain.”
“Double whiskey sour coming up.”
“Double…I didn’t ask for a double. You going to charge me more for that shit? Give me a single, man. A single. Do you hear me? I like it my way. not yours. Mine.”
“Geesh, single it is. Don’t get your panties in a wad.”
Dan stands and turns towards the exit, hands clenching a wad of money, his tie leaning a bit to the right and his hair falling over his dark eyes.
