Entitled

Exams over, Mike has earned a night out
on the town. At Simones, an upscale bar,
in the East End, he lays down a Ben Franklin,
the barkeep brings a bottle of Macallan,

Mike watches TV sports, sips from his shot
glass and bides his time. It’s rumored in time,
available women will surface here.
As if on schedule, a blond slides onto

the stool next to him, her soft smile asking
permission. Dark roots show, but she sports an
inviting cleavage. Perfect crossed legs end
in strapless black heels. One teeters on her

right foot as it pumps slowly back and forth.
“Are you sharing?” she asks, eyeing the scotch.
Easy to talk to, she carries no airs,
laughs at his jokes. After downing a few shots

she touches his arm and says, “If you want,
there’s a quiet place we can be alone.”
He doesn’t need to be invited twice.
Pushing out through the door she takes his arm

and they head through the mist down the cobbled
street. From a doorway, a slip of a boy
in a hoodie pops out and blocks their path.
His face is in shadows. “Fork it over,

college boy,” he chirps in breaking voice.
Mike twice his size, three times his weight, just can’t
pull out his wallet and hand it over.
He looks down, she murmurs, “Better do it.”

Instead, he lashes out with his right fist.
With her hanging on his arm, he only
manages a glancing blow off the kid’s
shoulder. The return thrust is not a fist

but much more. The pain tears his breath from him.
In seconds he is down tasting the grit
on the wet stones. Before he blacks out, he
feels her pull out his wallet then hears the rhythmic

click of her heels recede into the night.