Zoe goes into the bar

Mustering up her courage, Zoe decided to head into the bar, hoping someone inside that dive might have a phone charger or could at least direct her to a safer place to wait. As she pushed through the entrance, the ambiance inside hit her full ****. The dim lighting and the haze of smoke made it feel like another world. A song was playing from a speaker somewhere, and the patrons looked like they'd all been paroled that afternoon.

Zoe's skin crawled as she looked around a room that looked full of nothing but men who looked cast out of a movie about inner-city gangs; what had she walked into?

As she looked, Zoe noticed that she was also being watched. Every set of eyes in the room had turned to her, a feeling that she usually enjoyed, and felt empowered by, but now made her feel ****, like a deer spotted by a pack of wolves.

Her tight, revealing dress was now a liability instead of an asset, and she reached down to tug the bottom lower on her ass and then brought her arms up over her chest defensively as she felt the stares of the men in the room move over her body.

She steeled herself and made her way to the counter, trying to maintain an air of confidence. The bartender, a burly Hispanic man in his forties with tattoos running up his arms, watched her intently as she approached. "Lost, princess?" he said with a hint of sarcasm.

Ignoring his tone, Zoe replied, "Kind of. My phone died. I'm trying to get back to campus. Do you have a charger, by any chance?"

He raised an eyebrow and grinned at her, looking down at her chest, before he said, "Maybe I could help you out. What's in it for me?" without ever lifting his eyes from her breasts.

Zoe sighed.