By J.P. Voss
Copyright 2011 J.P. Voss
Thank you for downloading this free story. You are welcome to share it with your friends. This story may be reproduced, copied and distributed for non-commercial purposes, provided the story remains in its complete original form. If you enjoyed this story, please return to Smashwords.com to discover other works by J.P Voss. Thank you for your support.
The Scorched Iguana Bar was a sandblasted adobe shack at the base of the Black Mountains in Northern Arizona. A couple of dimly lit pool tables placed end-to-end filled one side. Opposite the pool tables, a bar made of hand-hewn Apache Pine rested on fifty-gallon whisky barrels. A dozen assorted stools lined the bar, and a weathered old woman with end of the road eyes stood behind it. Hank Williams cried from the jukebox.
I ordered a beer and flopped on a bench in a dark corner behind the pool tables. I slouched in my seat, tilted my head back, and flipped the long neck Tecate straight up and dropped it between my lips, like the jug on a water cooler. Cool suds ran down my throat until foam oozed from the side of my mouth. I turned the bottle up, choked the last refreshing mouthful down my gullet, then tapped my sun-blistered lips against the sleeve of my white cotton t-shirt. Rolling the cold bottle against my swollen cheek I thought—I can’t believe Harper split on me.