---- Part 2 ----

I sit at the cracked and twisted plank of a wooden bar in Larry’s Liquor Lounge. It’s the only place to get a drink in this crusty little town. Larry is busy behind the bar. A wave of miners has the town running at full speed. I’m sipping my favorite elderberry mead from a scratched up stainless steel cup. The little handle has come loose on the bottom side, so it has a nice little bouncing action to it. Larry opens the valve on a big metal urn and draws down another full gallon of hard cider for a rowdy table before topping off my cup. Somewhere behind me Teresa is playing cards. The place is lively, and it almost makes me forget about the awful timeline in which it’s happening. This is probably the only one, if we’re being honest, but it’s awful just the same. 

I turn to take in the rest of Larry’s patrons. There’s Teresa. The small pile of nuggets and notes in front of her tells me her faculties are winning out, as usual. I don’t understand how she can stand eking by stone sober. What’s the fun in that? 

I continue to scan the rest of the room. The sun’s gettin’ low, and some of the sloppier stumble bums are starting to sing songs. We’ve only been here a couple days, but I already recognize a good dozen or so regulars. They’re probably sleeping upstairs. Teresa is too. I got a room down the street. 

Then I notice someone else. Some dude by the window, who’s staring right at me. Like, really taking me in, and he’s got a sort of smile on his face. I haven’t quite had enough mead to not let it bother me, but I just can’t place his look. And how’s he get his shirt so white? 

Bang! Broken glass rains down all around me. It lands in my lap, at my feet, and in my little metal cup. I teeter on my stool and make quick progress toward the floor. Luckily, I break most of the fall with my forehead and don’t completely pass out. I squish my face to one side while my brain catches up. 

I see a Teresa trifecta slowly get up from their card game. They slowly melt back into one figure as they approach and she rolls me over on my back. She pats my face, while behind her, two men wrestle a second glass bottle out of some guy’s hand. Oh! It’s Jeremy! Boy, does he look mad! Probably the whole lead-painted-like-gold thing. 

“Thanks for watching out,” I say to Teresa through heavy, swollen lips.

“Yeah,” she replies. “I saw what he was doing. But I kind of figured you deserved it.” 

I flash a messy, blood-filled sneer at her, and she picks me up under the armpits, dusts me off, and pushes me back onto my stool.

“Almost done with my game,” she says. “Then I’ll walk you back to your room.”

My head bobs while I spin back around toward Larry. He looks less than impressed. I throw a handful of gold up on the bar.

“Another Lightning Larry Very Berry Mead Medley,” I announce.

“I told you that’s not what it’s called,” he says sternly as he scoops up the gold. 

“And whatever that guy wants,” I add, pointing to Jeremy.

Upon hearing this, Jeremy’s little chaperons let him go, and he begrudgingly takes the stool next to mine. 

“Grab yourself a room too,” I say, depositing another small pile of gold in front of him. 

He looks around suspiciously and scrapes the little nuggets into his pocket. I look around with him, remembering the weird stranger I saw by the window, but he’s no longer there. Perhaps my involuntary dismount from my stool scared him off. 

Larry puts a fresh cup in front of me. This one is glass with a big chip on one side. I like being able to see the dark purple liquid inside. I clink my glass against Jeremy’s without his consent and take a draw. I ignore the sting of my busted lip and hold the drink up against it. I drink it back when I realize it’s probably not strong enough to numb or clean my injury.

I sit and watch Jeremy eat and drink his fill by the time Teresa come’s over and turns me toward the door, escorting me out by one arm. I blow a kiss to Jeremy, but he doesn’t even try to catch it!

The crisp night air suddenly feels amazing, and I realize how hot and stuffy it was back in Larry’s. The moon is out and the couple of lights they have out here show just enough of the armed guards walking the wall to remind me where we are. Teresa somehow manages to march me down the street about twice as fast as I would have swaggered alone. She walks me right up to the exterior door of my little shack. ‘Bungalow #3’ says the sign. 

“Night night,” I say, but she’s already turned and headed back to Larry’s. 

I fumble with the key and shoulder check the door open. It bounces off the corner of the cramped little twin bed and pops me right in the mouth. I’m able to spin around it the second time and kick it closed just in time to collapse into a cozy pile.