When the Chip's Down

Zan looked up as a hand slapped down on the smooth, lacquered bar in front of her. Slowly, she lifted her eyes to consider the miserable young man attached to the hand. “Evening, Hunter,” she murmured. “What can I get you?”

“How much will this buy me?” He moved his long fingers to reveal a dark purple aluminum coin that glinted in the indirect lights from the bar’s mirrored backdrop. “Fat lot of good it’s done me.”

Zan eyed the 9-month sobriety chip. “I think you should hang onto that, hon.”

Hunter stabbed the bar beside the chip with a stiff finger. “Get me something, Zan. I don’t care what.”

Quietly, she nodded and turned away, reached for a glass and poured orange juice from a chilled bottle before adding something that popped and hissed. Slowly, she stirred the two together with a long spoon and slid it across the bar to Hunter. He was staring fixedly at the date and time on the face of his locked smartphone and barely seemed to notice when the highball glass stopped beside his hand. When he reached for the drink and sipped it, he blinked and looked at Zan, who smiled. “Did you just make me an orange fizz?”

“Keep the chip, Hunter,” she said softly and patted the back of his hand. “This one’s on the house.”

Word Count: 226

Winner of 05/30/2019 Prompt

Daily Flash Fiction Challenge  (13+) Enter your story of 300 words or less. #896794 by Arakun the Twisted Raccoon