Chapter 13Kirklands, once frequented by miners and farmers at the end of their workdays, was transitioning into a post-college singles hangout. Happy Hour in the dark and shady Woodland saloon offered a cheap three-hour drinking binge where everyone hid from someone they avoided back home in Braxton. Two-dollar beers and five-dollar cocktails accompanied loud, eclectic music and offered an opportunity to shed the insanity of the day.
At thirty-three, I pushed the limit for hanging out in such a place. I'd initially found it odd that Percy chose the Irish establishment, but I'd only ever stopped in a few times to meet a friend for a drink. Given it now appeared to cater to the twenty and thirty-something generations, things must've rapidly evolved in recent months.
While scanning the crow
