John is unwinding at a dimly lit bar, nursing a couple of drinks after a long week.
The place is busy enough to feel lively but quiet enough that he can enjoy some peace.
That is, until a woman with a voice that carries across the room, with a face to match, plops herself onto the stool beside him.
She’s loud, brash, and immediately launches into a one-sided conversation without even checking if he’s listening.
She leans in way too close, brushing imaginary dust off his shoulder, laughing at her own jokes, and treating every pause like an invitation to scoot closer.
John tries polite nods, short answers, even turning toward the TV, but she barrels ahead, convinced her charm is irresistible.
Soon she’s batting her eyelashes hard enough to create a breeze and asking for his number for the third time.
She won’t back off, and any hint he drops evaporates before it reaches her.
Her grin widens as she swirls her drink, clearly imagining she’s winning him over.
Finally, John sighs and turns to her fully. “Do you have a pen?” he asks.
Her entire face lights up, and she practically leaps at the chance.
“Yes!” she says, grinning as she digs eagerly through her purse.
John nods slowly and says, “Good. You’d better get back to it before the farmer realizes you’re missing.”
