The bar was one of those places that had been an old, well-established watering hole until new owners had redecorated a bit. A couple of the weathered, old red brick walls were still exposed, mutely retelling their stories for younger generations.

The goat femme's ears twitched as you approached, and she turned on her bar stool to look at you. Her expression was pleasant, but the look in her eyes was calculating and softened only slightly by the drink she'd been having. Not her first one, perhaps.

"Hi," she said. "You don't look like your picture on the dating app . . ."

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Frances is ©  walt46

Art by  heartcollar