chapter 13
James doubted his sanity in bringing Drew to his Thinking Place. But it was the only place he felt safe enough to talk, drink, and smoke uninterrupted.
“Been here before?” he asked Drew, as he sat in the driver’s seat rolling a joint.
“Nope. We stayed on the other side of the bridges. No offense, but we heard the place was pretty, well—”
“Cursed. Haunted. Bad news.”
“Yeah. All of the above, I guess,” Drew said.
James climbed out of the microbus, smiling wryly at the covering of cat hair on Drew, and lit up the joint. “Alas, all the wrong kinds of magical thinking,” he said, offering Drew the joint. “That way,” he said, pointing to his favorite bench by the river.
Drew suspiciously eyed the carved hearts and the engraved RIPs when they arrived. He took a long toke and pass
