Took time at lunch to bang this out for some Trifecta fun: use “trail” (like a trail of smoke would trail, for instance) as a verb. See them for details.
Friday night was finally here; he drank 4 whiskey drinks and turned the music up loud before heading downtown. He was already too drunk to drive, but it was the 1980s, and you could bomb around town like a madman in those days, as long as you didn’t actually crash into something or someone. He walked into his favorite bar, where a pretty decent band had just started playing. He found a couple work friends, sat down with them, and ordered 3 whiskey/waters, two because he was thirsty and a 3rd just in case the waitress was slow, then tipped her a whole dollar so he wouldn’t be invisible to her later. After a lot of laughs and friendly insults with his work friends, and after the band had taken their first break, he spied her with her friends in the corner. He wasn’t sure how he’d missed her before, or if she’d come in when he wasn’t looking, but there she was, cute as a button, laughing with her friends.
After a couple more drinks, he finally did it–he got up and boldly walked up to the table-full of pretty girls, looked her in the eye, and asked her to dance. She gave him a look like he had tried to hand her a dog turd or something equally awful, rather than just speak to her, and firmly said, “No thanks.” As he walked away and walked straight out of the bar, her “generic-blonde” friend couldn’t help but notice the slump of his shoulders. Disappointment, sadness, and self-loathing seemed to trail behind him in almost visible waves. The cutie-pie turned to her friends and asked “Could he have been more impaired, do you think?”
He vowed never to return to that bar, but after a couple weeks he reconsidered, saying to himself, “Screw it; she’ll probably marry some fat farmer with a stupid last name and join some church where they baptize people by fully dipping them into a big tub or something–good riddance.”