The speaker up over the bar is doing its best to further butcher some pop song from the 80s; thinly crooning through the smoke idly roiling near the ceiling. Cupid takes another bored drag from his cigarette and looks for enlightenment in the ice cubes at the bottom of his glass. Somewhere over his shoulder he can hear a couple in the corner mutedly laughing and cooing to each other with new love, which is basically just pissing him off.

He’s just about got to the point of turning around and telling them, for the love of Zeus, to shut the fuck up when his phone squawks and flashes at him. He fumbles with the device and holds it at arms length until the text comes into focus. He sighs and reaches vaguely for the bow and quiver somewhere down by the stool. Another job. As he shoulders open the door into the dimly lit alley, Cupid thinks that at least if he gets paid he can score.


~ by Electro-mechanical Man on September 8, 2010.

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