Writing a book is really tiring. And my legs are all locked up like an old man. I think I know why writers drink so damn much now.
Word of Inspiration: Scorching
Word Count: 87
Genre: Realistic Fiction
Title: Shark Eyes
It’s hot in here, hot enough so I sweat into my drink. And maybe my eyes are a little blurry, a little blurry in here, but they can still stab straight. I see you with him- I can’t let your night end on such a sour note. Turn around, nameless beauty, and meet my eyes; they won’t come off you until my eyes scorch a hole right through your dress. My mind’s swimming but I’ve got my head above water and I’m on you like a shark.
Creepy guys at a bar- not something I’m exactly familiar with but I think I can safely assume without looking like too much of a posterior. I don’t imagine they’re as coherent though, sipping on whatever poison they’ve grown immune to and filling their heads with lusts and bad “three X walk into a bar” jokes.
I don’t go to bars often, yeah.
Good luck, you brave writer folk!