The young woman glared at me with bloodshot eyes as I plucked the glass tumbler from her hand and sat it behind the bar. The death glare she was trying to level at me didn’t quite have the impact it would have had any other day. Her cheeks were as rosy as Santa Claus’ and there was a bright red oval on her forehead from where she’d had it resting on her forearm.
“You kicking me out?” She slurred on the K.
“We’re closing in a little while. And you’ve been sleeping for the last half hour.”
From the look on her face, I think she only understood every third word I’d just told her; “I’ve just been resting my eyes.”
“People won’t usually snore when they’re doing that,” I said and when she returned my comment with a blank stare, I reiterated; “You’re drunk. Go home.”
“I’m not drunk,” she protested, but sat up and started patting the p