Jake left work and rushed to Tommy’s Taproom. It was Three for One Thursday.
“What’s your secret?” Jake asked the bartender after a seventh beer.
He shrugged. “Magic for all I know. Only Tommy knows.”
Two more beers and Jake felt really good. Inside the bathroom, he slumped against the wall. When the wall gave in and Jake tumbled down a flight of stairs, he knew tomorrow was a sick day.
“Help me! They’re forcing me to work,” a miniscule voice squeaked. No bigger than an action figure, the man had pointy ears and reeked of beer. A manacle was clamped around his ankle and chained to a nail in the floor.
“A talking G.I. Joe! My son will love you.”
Jake pulled the nail from the floor. “Bless you, kindly,” he heard. When Jake turned, the man was gone.
A few weeks later Tommy’s Taproom went out of business.
[This is my first time participating in Monday Mixer. The first draft of this story was almost 400 words. It was definitely a challenge to cut it down to 150 words.]