Scout Scout at the Empress

I saw him reach for his bag, then hesitate when she spilled her white wine on the pool-table cover. She'd borrowed someone else's wallet to buy the drink just three minutes earlier and the look in her eye said, damn it, that's just typical. now i'll be sober all evening.

she huffed off to the kitchen window - standing on tippytoes like that would make the waitress notice her sooner - and while everyone else was lost in airy harp folk the cellist from Scout Scout drew a clean pink Chux from his bag and mopped up the puddle.

'Is that pink one someone else's?' asked the waitress later, rubbing a blue rag over the spot, her leopard-print t-shirt slipping down over her shoulder. he nodded, sheepish. 'I'll rinse it out and give it back to you.'