In the heart of New Orleans, where the air was thick with humidity and the scent of jambalaya, there stood a quaint little bar called The Hidden Pearl. The bar was known for its sultry atmosphere and the tantalizing drinks that flowed like the Mississippi River. It was here that two women, both with their
I was sitting at the bar, nursing my third whiskey on the rocks, when she walked in. Friderika, with her fiery red hair and curves that could make a grown man weep, was new in town. I knew because everyone in this small coastal village knew everyone else. She was a breath of fresh air,
After months of just not understanding what the deal was with him, I got fed up. I just couldn’t take the unexplained bouts of silence anymore. Or rather the unexplained bouts of vagueness. A few months passed, I was happy, busy, properly courted by a few men my age, and amused by the usual twentysomethings
I held my martini to the light and admired the chilled glass, especially the olives run-through with picks, nesting at the bottom-it was perfect. I noted the perfect curve of the drink’s surface extending above the rim, held by surface tension. A martini is a perfect drink…I was to be honored this evening after a
I had decided to take a break from my fast paced life of working computer systems to take a long overdue vacation. Looking through the online vacation packages one caught my eye looking through the specifics of the package I decided to go for it. Where would my vacation take me, not where I expected.
This story was written as a fantasy. The bar was a dump and located in the worst part of town. It never seemed to close, as required by state law. Most of the men who came here were drunks or trouble makers. Women very seldom, if ever, came in. It was always crowded from noon