A dim light shone through a small window. The proprietors, Rebekah and David Fisher, would no doubt be partaking of an unhealthy dollop of festive fare, and with luck their bellies rendered so full neither would muster the will to move beyond their threshold, though he doubted luck had the power to override habit. A habit never once broken by either party, one that found them every Wednesday night in attendance at Benny Muir’s Cabin Sessions.
To his left, the northern mountaintop was shrouded in cloud. The wind pushed him on, past a vacant block where once he’d tried and failed to stave off Juan’s wrath after a night of heavy drinking, Juan in a frothing rage and Adam placating that he hadn’t, truly hadn’t flirted with Philip Stone. Seconds later, Juan abandoning him in a bruised and blee
