Chapter 10
10 Kellan sat at the far end of The John, his favorite utterly shitty dive bar, knocking back shots of tequila. The fact that he was drinking tequila was a bad, bad sign. Kellan plus tequila never went well, without exception. It was the gateway to his angry, lonely place, the place he went when life was just pissing in his eye. And the hangover from the tequila? Salt in the wound. Still he drank and brooded, even smoking half a cigar before growing disgusted with it and stubbing it out on the ground. The John was all cement floors and metal chairs, the kind of scuzzy place that they likely cleaned with a firehose at the end of the night. It had a certain atmosphere, which suited Kellan’s mood. I’m not going to choose, she’d said. Fuuuuuuck. Her words had completely floored him. Worse,
- Writer
