KRIS
I texted Red.
I was at the Get Well, sitting at the bar waiting for Kendra, listening to chair feet shuffling on the floor as kids in their twenties took turns coming and going, looking fresh and innocent, flocking to the vintage ’80s arcade in the back that provided its own strange reverie. I was on my second pint, admiring how clean things looked behind the bar compared to where I worked. I thought Kendra was going to say no, given how I’d handled my “hiatus.” That said, despite being the baddest badass I knew, she always seemed to be alone.
Waz had finally sent the money to us via e-transfers, so, for a limited time, I was flush. The cloudy afterglow of the Polaris was well gone, whether or not we agreed on the details of what happened; why we lost, and what it meant, if anythin
