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A Farewell Drink

A Farewell Drink

A woman has one last drink with her friend.

The glow of the neon sign lit her face as she walked into the bar with a Gibson Les Paul guitar strapped across her back and carrying an urn in her hands. She set the urn in an empty stool and sat next to it, hanging the guitar on the back of hers.

“Two dirty martinis please!” she called out.

The bartender mixed the drinks and placed them both in front of her. She slid one over to the urn and sipped her drink, wincing as she did. “Something wrong?” the bartender asked.

“Probably not,” she said. “I’ve never had a martini before, dirty or not.”

The bartender looked surprised. “Why did you order two then?

“It was my best friend’s favorite drink and I’m having one in her memory.”

“She died?”

“Sadly yes. She was trying to take a picture of a dancing penguin with her Exakta 66 camera when she was stung by a bee.”

“She was allergic to bee stings?”

“No, she slipped on a potato the penguin wouldn’t eat and fell to her death. Of course, she broke the damn camera, but her final pictures were pretty wicked.”

She reached into her purse and pulled out some pictures. There was a picture of a penguin, then some blurry pictures of the sky, some rocks, and the penguin. The last picture was of a woman with part of a potato in her mouth and the penguin looking at her with a quizzical look on its face.

“Huh,” grunted the bartender, “those are pretty wicked.”

“She left me the broken camera and her entire Albert King collection, Born Under a Bad Sign and Blues for Elvis are my favorites.”

“How many albums did she have of his?”

“Four or five. None of his live albums though, but hey, I’m just happy she had enough sense to draft a will.”

“Yeah, that’s always a good thing,” said the bartender. “So, what’s with the guitar?”

“Oh that,” she said sipping the martini, “it’s mine. At least, that’s what the letter I had said. I just didn’t want her idiot brother to get it.”

“Well now, aren’t you vicious.”

She shrugged and sipped her drink. “Her funeral is today, so I came here to have a final drink with my friend.”

The bartender eyed the urn. “What’s that?”

“Her ashes. What time is it?”

He looked at his cellphone, “Um, 4:20 exactly. When’s the funeral?”

“Twenty minutes ago,” she said as she opened the urn and poured the drink inside it.

This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.

Copyright © Written by NymphWriter

All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Copyright ©2012-2018 A. Z. Smith. All Rights Reserved. This story may not be copied, reproduced or linked in any manner, without the express written permission of the author. If you wish to do this, please contact me with your request. Infringement of copyright as per section 1201 of the Digital Millennium Copyright Act (the text of which can be found at the U.S. Copyright Office Web Site, is considered a violation of my rights and ownership, and may be subject to legal charges and penalties. About the DMCA: The stated purpose of the DMCA is to ensure the protection of copyright works in the digital world by fortifying the technological blocks on access and copying of those works within a legal framework. This amendment to title 17 (the Copyright Act) was signed into law on October 28, 1998 as the United States implementation of the World Intellectual Property Organization (WIPO) Copyright Treaty adopted by countries around the world two years earlier. The DMCA implemented these recommendations in a much stricter fashion than required, giving copyright owners broader protection than was intended in the international treaty.

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