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IT was eight, and i was to deliver your cake, before my shift would end and i could go for a three weeks' break, as promised by my boss. for a lifted heart, i knock on the bar's door again, at which you answered. you reeked of alcohol. "ah, you're here," you slurred, thrusting the door open for me. it was a private bar, and you, being rich as hell, was able to afford renting it for a night. i walked in, expecting to see people drinking and dancing, but i was only three-quarts right. unfortunately, i was treated to a sight of a few couples making out on the floor and all over the bar.

my nose wrinkles in disgust, and i continue on my way behind you. you gestured to the table, where i put the cake on top. i quietly spread the icing on it and cut it into slices under your burning gaze. the strong scent of wine wafted into my nose - it came from your breath.

why are you drinking?

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