#ThursThreads, week 332

Bernie gently lowered the lid on the dumpster, enclosing himself next to, as far as he could tell, a two-year old diaper filled with rotting meat and dime-store perfume. He was alone, or at least he hoped. He didn’t even want to imagine what kinds of creatures lived in a place like this. In the foul blackness he could hear his breath rasping and heart pounding, and he imagined his pursuer standing outside with a grin on her face, knowing she had him trapped – and that he himself had chosen the means of his imprisonment.

And to think the night started off so well. Out with friends, a single malt in his belly and another in his hands, beautiful women everywhere – some even smiling at him. Then the liquid courage took hold (somewhere around the time they switched to tequila), and karaoke started, and he sang and sang and then *she* joined him for “The One That You Want” and then she kissed him when they got applause and then he grinned, “Well that went well. Want another?” and she did and then he went back to her place and it was glorious and then her girlfriend came home and her girlfriend turned out to be a werewolf and then he ran and ran but he’d left his ID at her place and now he was naked in a dumpster being chased by a werewolf.

Next time (if there was a next time), he was sticking to whiskey.


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