PHOTO PROMPT- ©Ted Strutz
‘A double Kahlua and black, please. Want one, Fliss?’
Steph’s leopard print mini-skirt has ridden up, showing the end of a ladder that’s climbed her tights to the top of her thigh. Her knuckles are torn, bloodied.
‘Nothing for me, ta, Steph.’
She shrugs, eyes unfocused. This is the last bar in town that will serve her – she’s banned from all the rest, though even here they take her money before they give her the drinks.
As she slugs back the sticky brown syrup, I say, ‘Time to go, love.’
‘Been time to go for a long while,’ she mutters.