The Bar

Her hair was frizzy and dried out, held back by her fake designer shades. Her laugh, almost as fake as her sunglasses, created a cacophony in the bar. She bought a round of drinks for everyone as though we all still ran in the same circle; as though we were all still friends. No one drank. Her fake laugh, tight jeans and baby gap shirt disgusted me. There wasn't a stranger in the bar she didn't brush against. Not a single man at which she didn't bat her eyes. This was her style. And while quite uncomprehensable to me, it was the way of the world for people like her. In this day and age, sex sells and she was fully stocked and loaded.