#sundaylit — Public Fediverse posts on home.social

“I must have died and gone to heaven. I see an angel.”

I looked over, taking in the speaker. Crude like his clothes: expensive, tasteless, like a gold-plated oil donkey gushing crude.

“I thik I’d too many.” I slurred, then looked at him. “Gin fizzy.” (Giggle.) “Lime twist,” and pushed my empty glass across the bar.

“You’ll hav’ta excuse me, powder woom.”

Pushing through the crowd, I stopped in front of the restroom and looked back in time to see him add something to my drink.

“A hunter,” I thought. But I was one too, fingering my razor-sharp ankh medallion.