One More Fuck for Mikey by Max Sheridan

There she was. Sitting at the crook of the bar with her hair looking the best she could get it. But you could see the flyaways in the sugary bar light. She was the only one left. It was closing time and Pedro was talking about his dog again. A home run on the TV screen and Pedro ties this into his fucking bulldog catching a baseball in—

Who the fuck cares where?

Except that baseball I’m watching on the TV has cleared the center-field fence. It’s sailing off into the Meadowlands on the wings of the flared trouble lights.

And it makes me wonder a little where in this stinking New Jersey night it might end up.