“WE ARE THE CHAMPIONS! No time for losers, ’cause we are champions,” Azazel sung too high and way off key leaning on Zarek as they stumbled out the building’s back door. The alley was lined with trash and smelled like stale blood and gasoline. Azazel tripped over a man dressed in trash bags and earned a incoherent rant.
“Of the world!” Zarek finished.
Azazel felt no pain. The deep gouge in his shoulder was nearly healed. He had a bottle of Malort in his belly and all was well, or it would be when the world stopped spinning.
“I feel grrrreat,” Az slurred a little too loudly.
“Good, because I’m not carrying your ass.”
“I dun need your help, you bastard. You,” he said poking Zarek in the shoulder. “Need help.”
Zarek smirked. “Glad to have you back, man.”
Back on the main street they st
