My First Attempt At Flash Fiction...

...is done...I don't know enough about the genre to judge it. Maybe I don't like the genre. Here it is in undedited glory:

We lay on my bed and held the spoons out the window while we burned the sugar cubes. Once black we sat up fast, plunged him into our cups of absinthe resting on our mini-fridge, stirred then drank fast. It tasted like knuckles pushed into our necks, and we gagged together and regretted together.
We pulled out plastic containers of spare blankets and pillows from under our bunks, removed our liquor bottles and lined them up on the windowsill and assigned each bottle a number. We mixed shots in our absinthe cups according to the first three serial numbers of dollar bills in our wallets. A third of melon liqueur, third of Early Times, a third of lemon vodka then drank with for a familiar burn, but with a foreign zesty finish. Our shots differed and we piled the spent bills next to the bottles like a pie set to cool, something straight out of black and white morning TV.
I lay back on the bed with my hands over my head held the money. She plucked her bottle of cinnamon schnapps from the window sill and drank straight from its neck. A red stream leaked from her mouth and across her pale cheek and into her hair. She complained she was hot and slid her t-shirt over her head without releasing her bottle. I suggested music and she obliged, turning her stereo to full tilt and I folded the bills into my hand. She twirled and danced in just her bra, letting herself go to the liquor and sung some pop gibberish into the bottle’s hollow neck and smiled. I slipped the dollars into my pocket and sat up against the wall to watch her dance, sing and drink for fun. I took the absinthe bottle from the mini fridge, poured a fresh cup and sipped it without sugar and its hot choke was thumbs on my windpipe and I drunk more until the thumbs relaxed, and her dancing turned blurry and I could feel myself smiling.


viva el mustache...