“Living on Borrowed Time” / Memorable Fancies #2340

I suspect a trick. There’s always a trick in deals like this. I borrowed time from that shady fellow I met in a bar about nine last night. I was bemoaning the fact that I had little time left – time for what, I didn’t say.

Now I know I should have been more specific. I signed in blood – nothing gory, just a pin-prick, and he said There, he said, Now you have 12 extra hours today. I looked at the clock on the wall. It read 9:00, and I was turning toward him angrily, but then I saw it was daylight outside and it was 9 o’clock – in the morning. I turned again to ask him what price he’d charged me for that wonderful 12 hours, but he was gone.

So I had lost a few drops of blood and had a small wound on the back of my hand. Was that the whole price? Couldn’t be. Shady people like that are always after more, and then they trick you and you owe them more, and even more.

I got off the bar stool to make for the door. But the bartender stopped me, said Hey bud, you owe me for all those drinks. And I said what drinks, and he laughed, and said “If you don’t have the cash, I’ll take it out in blood.” And I thought, well, just another few drops gone, what the Hell! But he brought out a large knife, and a large bottle, and other large bottles, and just at the last minute I said “He promised me 12 hours and I have 11 left! Let me go!”

The bartender looked annoyed, shrugged, turned away saying “eleven hours. On the dot, asshole.”

So I had 11 hours to mend my life, to make it count for something. But that was better than anybody else I knew, guys who’d gone under without ever knowing that they’d had eleven precious hours, just before there were no more hours and it was too late for everything.

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