I can’t believe the way this old woman is staring at me. I’m used to people staring at me, but it’s unusual for an old woman to be leering at me the way she is. What is she even doing in a nice bar like this? She looks like she should be muttering to herself while feeding pigeons in the park.
She approaches me slowly but with confidence, never breaking eye contact.
“Pretty girl, gotta boyfriend?”
I recoil slightly, confused. Is she hitting on me?
“No,” I reply with a bit of an attitude.
“How come why not?” she asks and I notice an accent, perhaps Eastern European.
“I dunno,” I say, feeling a weird vibe from her.
“You should get a boyfriend, before you’re all used up.”