December 24, 2012
I'm a copywriter and am writing a novel
Stumbling out of the pub, Karen felt the heel of her shoe snap. “Dammit,” she cursed. Her day couldn’t have been worse. After losing a big account at work, she had headed round the corner to Davey’s to meet a friend for a drink. Marlene was a no-show that night and so she had downed five dirty gin martinis sitting by herself at the bar. Four martinis in, her ex had shown up with his new arm candy in tow. It wasn’t the new girlfriend that twisted the knife. It was the feigned look of pity on his arrogant face when he saw her. Karen's drunk and miserable exterior had shown no signs of the hellfire tantrum taking place in her head. Until now. Steadying herself against the entrance, Karen removed both her shoes. Her anger stilled her drunkenness as she set her gaze on her target: the bright red Volkswagen belonging to her ex. The first shoe flew with such force it cracked the rear window on impact. The second made a satisfying thud as it dented the boot. She smiled.