So, another backstory, also from the pub
Rita, the barmaid. She’s pretty good. Good at her job anyway.
Life? Not so much.
She’s single, not really an issue
She’s 50, still ok
She’s never been in love. There have been men of course, many men. She’s fifty and an barmaid, there have been plenty of men eager to take advantage of an easy lay. But never love.
Men have been revisited, often multiple times, rarely on consecutive occasions. Given the numbers you’d wonder why she isn’t a mother.
She doesn’t use condoms, she wants the feeling
She’s not a mother, maybe it’s her body, maybe it’s the smoking, maybe it’s the drink, maybe it’s luck. It doesn’t matter, she’s childless and she wants one. Two. Three. Any. But it’s getting late, her clock is ticking, she’s 50 and single, what else can she do? Without a child her life’s been wasted, pointless.
She wants children
She has none
She’s getting old.
Tonight will be the end of it, it cost her her job but she did it, enough free drink for the youngest, fittest guy in the bar, enough free drink to make him want what she can offer. It cost her her job, but tonight’s her chance.
She’s fifty, he’s twenty two.
Tonight was it, if she’s capable, she’ll be pregnant.
She needs it, needs kids, tonight’s the chance.
Tonight she gets pregnant or she doesn’t
Tonight leads to happiness or it doesn’t
It’s been two weeks, two weeks of no sex, no smokes, no drink, two weeks of crossed fingers and crossed legs.
She’s desperate, she wants kids, she needs kids.
The stick is there, soaked in her piss
Pissing on a stick, so classy
She’s not pregnant
Nothing else matters but the stick
Here she sits, in a grotty cubicle, in the grotty pub she worked in until so recently.
Pissing on sticks
She has everything she needs here
She’s not pregnant
This is her last chance, her last attempt at creating life.
Or she’s dead.
The stick starts to change…..