If a bar counted me among its patrons, you could safely bet your house on three things.
One: the moonshine was cheap.
Two: sweaty jazz drowned out the barfly chatter.
And three: the girls were steaming hot.
Read the rest of the tale and 100 more stories in 300 words or less in YOU’RE GETTING SLEEPY, THE HYPNOTIST’S APPRENTICE YAWNED.