Perceptive Stories

I looked at her the way I always did every last Friday of the month, when payday beers had turned warm in my blood, and it was time to watch her walk the opposite direction from O’Malley’s. “You alright?” I asked as her heel slipped off the curb and she steadied herself on my arm. She giggled. “Aye,” she said. “Just buzzed.” “You’ll be okay walking home?” She smiled, brushing a strand of hair from her eyes. “Aren’t I alwa...