He reeked of liquor and horse s**t. A half-empty bottle had fallen from his hand and spilled out onto the hay. His face resembled pulp.
“Look at this sorry lump, eh?” Gunner said, dragging on his cigarette. “Took me a case of single malt to get him this fuckin’ job.”
Patrick shared his indignation. On occasions like this, he wondered if it wouldn’t be more efficient to just rid the world of men with Ferris’s character than entertain fantasies of righting the ship.
“Well,” Donny muttered, stubbing out his own smoke against a wooden post. “God rest his soul and all that.”
The horses were quiet in their stables. Even they seemed accepting of Ferris’s fate.
“Oy,” Patrick called loudly and kicked the sole of Ferris’s foot. “Up you get.”
The man came to slowly, eyes rolling. His pupils dil
