In the gritty, neon-soaked fringes of the city, where the neon lights and wine blend into a haze of midnight desperation, I found myself returning to a familiar haunt. Life had been a whirlwind of high-stakes deception at Longroad Logistics and narrow escapes at the Riverwood Estates, but sometimes, a man just needs the grounding comfort of grease and cheap tobacco. I told myself I was doing a service for the tavern owner; if her husband couldn't keep her satisfied, I was more than happy to step in as the anonymous benefactor of her carnal needs.
"Haven't seen you in a few days, Mr. Barnes," the owner called out as I approached the entrance. He was a sturdy man, weathered by years of flipping burgers and dealing with the city's late-night castoffs. He tossed a cigarette toward me with pra
