Patrons were frolicking about, sipping colorful cocktail creations. Such childish energy! I felt like Charlie at the Chocolate Factory—except with copious amounts of alcohol. I half expected Mr. Wonka to come around and ask, “What’ll it be?”
Then I heard him!
“Come with me…”
Haunting vibraphone tones rang as I looked around with bloodshot eyes.
“And you’ll be…”
Wonka spun my stool around.
“In a world of pure imagination!” I blurted out.
“What’d you say?” Asked the bewildered bartender—who didn’t look entirely unlike Gene Wilder. “You’re drunk. I’m trying to help. Come with me and you’ll be alright.”
Written for Rochelle Wisoff-Field’s Friday Fictioneers. A weekly picture-writing challenge in 100 words or less.