When I started Quickies in New York I wanted it to feel like these covers. It was going to be a contemporary noir styled thing with a whole lot of sex and whisky. Maybe something like this:
I walked into the bar and it smelled like whisky. Whisky and pussy I suppose, but it could have just been my upper lip. There’s no telling these days.
She was sitting in the corner nursing a PBR in a flannel that looked like it belonged to her old man way too long ago. It was the kinda shirt a broad wakes up in wondering who she slept with the night before. This was a girl looking for trouble. Looking for something to drown her middle class privilege in.
I took a long breath of hot air and headed towards her. If she was looking to make mistakes, I was perfectly happy to be one.