A pretty young woman, dressed in a tight corset and an ill-fitting hoop skirt, sauntered up to Davin with a tipsy stagger. She rested her hand on his shoulder and took a deep puff of her short cigarette. “Hey soldier,” she hollered over the din, “how was it today?” Davin knocked back the last half of his warm beer and slammed it down onto the counter. The white foam stuck to his stubbly upper lip, prompting the woman to reach out and flick it away with her finger. The women that littered the gathering place were there for, as the brass put it, “morale”. Of course anyone would have known that they were basically hookers on the government’s dole, not that any of the men minded. In fact, “morale” had never been higher. “Not tonight, Sandy.” She frowned and tossed aside her spent smoke. “Oh come on honey,” her hand slipped down over his shoulder and onto his tight chest, “what’s bothering you?” The twang of hard liquor followed her hot breath as it rolled past Davin’s ear and down onto his shoulder. He sighed and turned on the barstool where he was seated. The corners of his pouty lips were locked in a firmly straight line.
