The young woman walks into the bar, her brown eyes scanning the place. Drunken men shout and curse and slam their fists on the tables. Their women, equally as drunk, cling to their arms, sweet talking them.

A not-too-young man catches her eye. He sits there in a high top chair... back hunched over the bar table... sipping Jack Daniels whiskey straight from the bottle... completely disassociated from the chaotic world around him.

She stares at him for a few seconds more until someone grabs her armly crudely.

"Hey!" the young woman shouts, "Get your hands off me!"

"Comere, sweetheart! Why don't you gimme a lil' kiss, huh?" the drooling, drunken, old man jeered obnoxiously.

This encounter caught the not-too-young man's attention. He was no longer in his own world. He was about to enter hers. His face calm, yet one could clearly tell that he was pissed off. He started over to the commotion clenching his fists.

"NO!" the young woman refused as the old man leans with his lips puckered. She started to strike him in the chest, but he just grabs her wrists tightly.

"Let go of me!" the young woman screams angrily.

"The lady said 'no'," the not-too-young man says in a raised voice.

The old man turned around and looked the other man up and down. The old man burst into laughter.

"Would ya look at that, boys?" he guffawed. "Mr. Tough Guy here's gonna beat me up. Why don't you mind your business, pal?"

The young woman looked at the younger man, then back at the old, then back at the younger again. She struggled and tried to pull away from the old man's grasp, but he tightens his grasp.

"Just where do you think you're goi-?"

The old man couldn't even finish his sentence. For the younger man had punched him right in the side of his face.

"You son of a bitch! You shoulda minded yer business when I told ya to!"

The old man lunges for the younger, but he swerves outta the way. The old man whips around. The last thing he sees before going black is the not-too-young man's fist in his face. The old man falls to the floor... defeated.

The not-too-young man wipes his nose with the back of his hand and looks at it. Then he turns around abruptly. His eyes search behind him until they find the young woman. He approaches her swiftly.

"You alright?" he asks.

"Oh, um. I'm fine." she replies hesitantly.

"You sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure."

He narrowed his eyes at her hand.

"What's that?"

"Oh, nothing. I just cut myself."

He gazed at the blood dripping from her pointer finger. Cursing he looked around for something to quickly wipe it off with.

"It's just a lil' cut. I'll be fi-. What the fuck?"

He took her finger, closed his lips over it, and sucked it roughly. Looking away he spat into a corner.

"Um... I don't think that's very... sanitary..."

"Yeah, well, I didn't have anything else." He sniffs. "Shouldn't you be at home?"

She cocked her eyebrow at him.

"Well, no, sorry. I didn't mean it like that. What I meant was that you seem so... so..."

"It's because I'm a girl? Hey, I can handle myself, ya know?"

"Well, maybe not by the looks of it." He sighs. "It's just that there are assholes like that one that might try to hurt ya. You don't want that, do ya?"

"No. And I understand."

"Alright, then." He leads her back to the door. "Oh, wait! Do ya have a ride home?"

"Oh. No. I walked."

"It's awful dark. How 'bout I give you a ride home?"

"Sure. Thanks."