Sean’s legs wobbled under him as if the floor beneath him was opening up. He placed a hand on the edge of the table to stabilize himself. His stomach turned, and he feared he was about to puke up the beers he’d just downed. Pondering the meaning behind whatever kind of sick, divine intervention had just repaid him for a past act or thought, he found himself hostage to his own lifeless gaze that panned the room. The expressions on the faces of the young couple nearly mirrored each other. Both displayed a mixture of awe and sympathy. The trucker with the hat was shaking his head in disbelief, probably just thankful that it wasn’t him for whom the bad luck had befallen. Curly almost looked frightened, taking a few steps back with his head lowered submissively as if he were half expecting Sean
