“What can I get you, sir?” he asked in broken English, trying to sound helpful.
“The strongest whiskey you have. And leave the bottle,” I ordered, my deep, sharp voice echoing in the humid air.
The man rushed to find an imported bottle he kept locked away. I took a hundred-dollar bill from my coat and threw it on the counter without asking for change. I poured myself the first short glass and downed it in one gulp, feeling the amber liquid burn my esophagus, spreading an artificial heat throughout my body. I rested my elbows on the bar and ran a hand through my hair, frustrated.
I poured myself a second glass, ignoring the murmurs that drifted from the gaming tables in the back. I heard snippets of conversations, isolated words from the customers who glanced at me out of the corner of t
