Memphis Fast Fiction Home
Pamela Stanfield

The Devil orders another double whiskey and Coke. The bartender nods absently and goes to work mixing. He doesn’t so much as question the fact that it is the Devil’s fourth in less than an hour, or that it isn’t yet 5pm.

And why would the bartender questions something like that? This is the Buccaneer. People come here to drink until the dingy pirate theme seems as good of an idea as going home with whoever is next to them.

That’s why the Devil loves this place more than any other dive bar in the world. There is absolutely no chance of him finding a pristine soul here. The regulars that drank during the day, never speaking save to order their next drink, are a veritable horror show of dark secrets. And the legion of horny, virile scenesters that replace them? Well, sin is as thick on them as cigarette tar on the walls.

A complete lack of pure souls means that the Devil feels no temptation to work. Odd thing to admit, the Devil suffering temptation, but, hey, he is a workaholic.

Sometimes he just needs to cut loose, he thinks, and a fresh drink in front of him.

Memphis Note
I’ve written about the Bucc before, but last time it was vampires. This time, it’s the Devil. Which, considering I was considering going to go with a dancing midget hallucination, is something you should be thankful for. As to the real crux of the story, did you ever find it odd that the Devil must exemplify the Puritan work ethic in order to get all that evil done? I know I do.


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