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Through the process of elimination, we had become drinking buddies at our local tavern. More often than not, we were the last people still standing when the barkeep bellowed out, "Last call for alcohol! The tavern, built in the 1890s, featured a Walnut and Mahogany bar with an odd little ' L' shaped hook at the far corner of the saloon.

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"I love this drink," she inhaled the beverage, chugging it down in one long gulp. How can anyone love a drink without taking the time to appreciate the subtle by-play of flavors? " she smiled before dispatching the last White Russian. After a few months together, the real-estate development company in which Darlene had invested fifteen years of her life went belly-up, and then her last two paychecks bounced.

Thirst quenched for the moment, Darlene resumed her quest for tonight's bed partner. The rubber checks set up a cascading overdraft chain reaction.

Her second expedition of seduction ended in bewildered frustration. I usually have to beat men off with a stick," shaking her head in disgust, she demolished another White Russian. Darlene's rent check went south, along with about 25 or 30 personal checks and ATM transactions; each bad check racked up a $35 bank charge, $25-30 in returned check merchant fees, and her account soon was bleeding red ink by several thousand dollars.

"Maybe you should offer to beat them off with a stick, you know, fifty shades of kinky? The certified letter ordering our eviction was the last straw.

" if they had been living off the grid for 15-years this group had something going for it "You know, friends who help friends.

Anyway, they are heavy duty into the survivalist movement.She looked at me, turned slightly and studied the calendar hanging on the refrigerator door, looked back into my eyes."That was our last best lead, we're screwed," Darlene slumped in her chair. Darlene's posture suddenly changed as she sat upright in her chair and the corner of her mouth turned upwards as a smile lit up her eyes. "What kinda random question is this and where is it going?According to local legend, the original owner ordered the hook's construction to allow him to observe activities of untrustworthy bartenders behind the bar while also keeping an eye on equally untrustworthy patrons. Hell, she flirted with everyone: Men, women, and even the bartender's mangy tomcat. I pitied the lucky guy who won Darlene's attention.The voyeur and hermit in me loved the spot, and I had it all to myself for several months until the day Darlene arrived. At first, I was annoyed at the invasion of my secret space. Like commuters sharing an across town bus, we got used to each other's presence on the installment plan. While I enjoyed the sometimes risqué banter, I never considered Darlene as potential girlfriend material. I amused myself trying to sneak a peek down her blouse or up her skirt when I thought she wouldn't notice. She had the uncanny ability to read people like a book and play them like a deck of cards.Familiarity grew comfortable and gave way to conversation as we observed the ebb and flow of tavern life. One Friday night the stars governing our relationship aligned like the bars on a slot machine. One of these stud-muffins is going home with me," she chuckled with a little shiver and scanned the bar for targets of opportunity. What a curious blend of emotions for a virtual stranger. Most of the men in the tavern looked like drop-outs from Blubber Buddies or some such weight-watching group. "Compliments of the house," Our curious barkeep did a visual inventory of his own as he set a beautifully mixed and handcrafted White Russian in front of Darlene.

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