Breakdown of Reality

               Steve sat at the bar, his fingers wrapped around his glass of scotch. He was dressed in his finest formal wear, black silk suit with off white pinstripes. He’d had to leave his overcoat and top hat at the door though. He brought the scotch up to his lips and took a sip, happy with the taste and the feel of it sliding down his throat, burning along the way.

               Some lounge singer he didn’t know and didn’t recognize was crooning at the stage. She was wearing a low cut, long, red formal dress, and her feet in heels. She had her hand wrapped around the microphone, full luscious red lips pressed against it. Her voice beckoned him,baby, let me take you there, she begged. And Steve was ready to let her take him there, wherever there might be.

               The waiters in their full penguin suits moved from table to table, taking the orders of the well-dressed guests. The chandelier sparkled on the high ceiling. All in all it was a great night, and Steve was happy to be a part of it.

               “Gimme a scotch on the rocks, with a twist,” a voice said to his side. A man in a rumpled suit sat down on the barstool next to Steve, slamming his money on the table. Steve glared at him as the man proceeded to lean back on the stool and pat his stomach.

               He looked up at the stage and frowned at the singer.

               “When’s the bitch getting off stage?” he asked.

               That was enough. Steve could only take so much. He pulled the laser pistol out of the holster at his side and shot the man in the head, careful to aim the shot so no innocent bystanders were harmed.

               As the attendants moved to clean up the body Steve went back to his drink, nodding to the robo-bartender.