...simplifying, eschewing money, possessions, and personal accolades. Dan traded his Mustang for a ratty van. Larissa, if she shopped, haunted thrift stores. Norm bartered leather candle holders for stunted vegetables. Stella spent her bus fare buying seed beads to make necklaces. Smiling vacuously, she'd hand them out like trick or treats to complete strangers.
Pretty sure he was born in the wrong era, Ricky detested this whole hippy existence. Oh, he'd given it a try. Summer of Love and all that. Drove to San Francisco with the four of them. Bought all the gas. Shared his jug of wine. Got his sleeping bag ripped off by some "brother" reeking of mildewed patchouli.
Like a loose checker knocking around in a box of puzzle pieces, Ricky just didn't fit.
Taking a last look around at his party guests passed out on the floor, Ricky shut the door and never looked back.
Different point of view from author Ric Hardson:
Ricky had mixed emotions about his raise and promotion, because everyone else was...
...gone for the night by the time La Diva brought it up.
"Ricky, dear, join me? Drinky-poo?" La Diva beckoned from across the darkened lounge. The rhinestone shoe buckle ring winked seductively from that ruby taloned hand.
Ricky picked up the whipped peach cocktail in one hand and his icy Corona in the other. "Here ya go, Boss."
Inhaling the drink through a clear plastic straw, La Diva finished it off quickly with three very loud, very unladylike gurgles. "Okay, toots. Here's the deal: your weekly pay will most likely double just working weekends."
Ricky knew he was a great bartender, but the offer astounded him.
"Course you'll need a new 'do, flashier clothes." La Diva dropped out of character once again, burped, and slapped Ricky on the back. "How's the name Sharon LaStones sound?"
Ricky was no longer sure he wanted to tend bar at a club featuring female impersonators.
source:
http://www.scribesvalley.com/uwriteitweek273.html
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