All right, here's most of the setup for the first scene of an urban fantasy/murder mystery:
Rachel was showing Hank her brand new tat —
Emerald scaled, sapphire-clawed and ruby-eyed,
A dragon curling from her ass, its bat
Wings slicing moon and comet, stretching wide
Across her shoulders, shiny with ointment spread
Wherever new gold gleamed. "You satisfied?"
"You kidding, Rachel? That's the day I'm dead.
I've got to know if you can shake that thing."
For Hank she did, then blew a kiss and said,
"I can't sit down. Go give your ex a ring —
She's drunk enough by now — or pour some beer
On your right hand and have yourself a fling
With Rosie and her sisters. I'm out of here."
She pulled her clothes together, waved to her friends —
The usual Wednesday crowd gave her a cheer —
Put on her coat and left. "See how it ends,"
Hank mourned, and kissed his hand. "Babe, I'm afraid
It's you and me, and if your love depends
On beer, we're out of luck. I don't get paid
Till Friday and Newt's already called my cab;
It's been three weeks since poor old Hank got laid …"
Outside a taxi honked. He turned to grab
His coat but froze, astonished, to hear Newt,
The barkeep, saying "Hank, how about that tab?
I'll make it fifty, even." "Don't get cute
With me, old buddy. How would I get home?"
"Don't you get cute with me. I know your route —
It ain't too far to walk — not sober. Come
Across with cash or learn to live that way."
"Goddamnit Newt, I ain't no drunken bum.
I'll pay you Friday." "Hank, I've heard you say
That twice too often." "Calling me a liar?"
A draft, of course. More installments coming as fast as I can write them, unless you tell me give it up.
8:42:37 PM 
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