A duck walks into a bar...

In the dark part of town where the spilled beer on the sidewalk reflect the flickering neon lights that hang above the creaking door he just walked through. Inside the sound of pool balls clicking and shot glasses slamming drown out the sound of the broken-down jukebox struggling to carry a tune. He sits in a wobbly seat.


"What'll be this time?" The bartender asked.

"The same as every time." The duck sneered.

The bartender served the duck a shot of cheap gin and left the bottle. The duck pulled out a cigarette and struck a match, and ordered a second bottle.

"What's the problem? You trying to drink yourself to death?

"Maybe I am. Maybe my time is up, maybe it's time for this miserable old duck to finally fly south for the winter."

"Look, you keep talking like that people are gonna start thinking you need some help. Like you maybe need to talk to someone."

"Talk to who?"

"You know...A therap-"

"A QUACK?!"

"You don't have to call them that, they're just trying to help."

"Fuck their help. I don't need nobody's help. The only thing I need is a little bit of wind and a clear take off. You always think you know best, like how somehow serving people poison gives you some great insight to how to improve their lives. Well fuck you! I'm all that I need, and you remember that!"

"But-"

"But what? What do you have to say?"

"...Ducks fly together."

"You son of a bitch."

The duck saw his reflection in the bottom of his empty shotglass. He was old, and bitter, and worthless, and all the other things he said he would never be. He looked up and saw the the other patrons, staring back at him with wide-eyes and slightly dropped jaws.

"I'm sorry everybody. I've just been so stressed lately, both under and above the water. Drinks are on me."

And the duck drank with the patrons and there were smiles to be had. The duck felt so much better he bought the bar another round. And as he waddled out on the dance floor everything seemed a little brighter, the smell of foul beer and snuffed cigarettes faded from the air and even the jukebox sprang to life as the duck gathered the confidence to approach a swan drinking a martini while the other drunken patrons vied for her attention. In a drunken swirl of self-confidence and momentum he stumbled up to the swan and whispered in her " These niggas is fowl and its duck seazon."

The duck grabbed the swan and together they walked out of the bar onto a street that looked a little better - or at least less shitty - and a little bit more worth living for. They fell into a cab and as it drove away the bartender came out shouting "You never paid! You never paid!"

And the duck stuck his head out of the window and shouted back.

"Put it on my bill!"