Friday, September 15, 2017 at 6 a.m.
You were the barmaid at the little Long Beach club hosting Paint Nite. My friend and I had gotten there early and were directed to the bar. Our drinks arrived quickly, but as the time for us to move into another room fast approached, we asked about paying you. You told us the price, then walked away. I didn’t want to leave a $20 bill for my less-than-$10 cocktail, but you had left the room. Then, at the event, I asked the server about paying you for my drink, but he told me I needed to settle up with you. While you took money from others at their easels, I tried to flag you down without flinging paint around. No luck. At the end of the night, I went back to the bar, in the hopes of keeping some good karma, but you soon left the room again. After waiting a long while for you to return, I left some cash in a cocktail napkin with a note, tucking it slightly out of view. I do hope you got the money, but I wonder how short you were that evening—or if only my money was no good to you.
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