Tuesday, November 29, 2016

How to pick up women

In my opinion the easiest place to find them are at a bar. Not the high end or the low hole in the wall, but the average normal bar. However; I've found them at truck stops, all night diners, and during late night walks through the park. Tonight I just wanted easy. I sat down beside a middle aged blonde woman in a halter top and ordered a beer.
"Hey, can I ask you something?" The mature blonde turned her head, met my gaze with unfocused eyes. "Just an opinion really. My friend is really into this online psychic. Do you believe in psychics?" It’s as simple as that. I had my fish hooked, now all I needed to do was reel and land her.
Of course she did believe in psychics. She believed in them very much. You learn to read people.We talked for a while, getting into her safe, friendly zone, then I suggested we go to another bar a few blocks away. I like to get them out of their comfort zone.
At the second bar, I got her a lot of her life story. That's important. I have to know who they are. She was a divorced mother of two grown kids A girl 23, and a boy 21. She had an dead end job as shift manager at a gas station. She was "dog mother" to two Maltese and showed me pictures of the tiny dogs dressed in sweaters.
I asked why she divorced. Her response was what I figured. They fell out of love. I faked concern and asked what the final straw was. With a tear in her eye. She gave me gold. She came home from work on her birthday. Her wonderful hubby didn’t even make it home that night. He was a drunk sack of humanity. He came home the next day, didn't even say he was sorry. Or happy birthday. Nothing. She laughed, but you could see the pain. I knew I had her. She leaned in close to me, exhaling boozy breath in my face, and asked if I wanted to see her apartment. I was in the home stretch.
So, we went. We left the bar and stumbled together down the dark empty streets, laughing and leaning on one another. She was taking me to her place, her shabby little apartment where she lived with her tiny dogs. She unlocked the door and dropped her keys on a little table beside the door. I clamped my hand over her mouth and pulled her head back. My other hand brought up the knife, drawing it across her throat as the tiny dogs leaped and barked around our ankles. I laid her gently on the floor and looked into her terrified eyes as the last bit of life ebbed from them. The blood ballooned out from where she laid. I used her coat to unlock the door so I wouldn’t leave any prints, then I went home.
It's not easy to be a writer. My agent wants stories. My fans demand them. And I need inspiration.
I sat down in my favorite chair when I get home. I wrote a sentence in my little note pad while it is still fresh. "Her eyes locked on mine, searching for human connection we all crave. Me, her friend, her peer, her witness, her betrayer."
I closed the note pad and got ready for bed. Yep another bestseller.

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