Chapter 8
Sober wasn’t sitting right with me. I’d been sloppy, exposing myself to discovery and more ridicule. I craved the surety of alcohol again. I called Dom and tried to sound especially jovial.
“Let’s hang out, just you and me!”
“Uh-oh. It’s 3:32 in the afternoon. Did you and Ruby drink too much?”
“That, or not enough.”
I suggested we meet at our favorite pub, Winky’s, close to home. We favored it over Platte for a late drink, since Don’t s**t where you eat is applicable. Commanding employee respect becomes tough when they’ve picked up the mint from your spilled mojito and witnessed you tip over into the coat check. Between lunch and dinner, Winky’s would be quiet and, I hoped, empty. Fact: misery doesn’t always love company.
“It’s been a weird day,” I told him.
“That makes tw
