40
Even the dimly lit bar’s thinning crowd pressed in on Dale. Voices shattered in his head, reducing themselves to a stew of meaningless syllables. The thick yeasty smell of beer had become a stink thick enough to make Dale feel smothered, pinned in place by other people’s alcohol. Getting to the door would feel like wading through gelatin.
And he’d sweated through his shirt. Again.
Dale’s senses felt choked with fog, his brain stuffed with cotton.
Relax. Nobody’s watching you. Nod, smile, and make your way to the door. That’s the advantage of not having any good friends here. Nobody’s going to worry when you walk out.
Maybe he could find Ritchie tomorrow.
It was a chance.
Dale made it two whole steps before someone shouted his name.
Pure habit stopped him.
Keep going! Pretend yo
