Claddagh Pub, Baltimore, Thursday Evening
After the day he'd had, Mitchell deserved a pint. More than a pint. Something a bit more live, maybe.
Something to chase away then why are we even trying? from his mind, or at least follow its lead down into the murky deep for a spell. He didn't care much. The night was young, there were people, it smelled of blood and he just--
He lit a cigarette by the entrance to the pub, waiting.
Fuck it all for a lark. Maybe George was right. Maybe there wasn't a point, and he'd just been fooling himself all along.
[[ for the big guy, and nfb due to distance ]]
Something to chase away then why are we even trying? from his mind, or at least follow its lead down into the murky deep for a spell. He didn't care much. The night was young, there were people, it smelled of blood and he just--
He lit a cigarette by the entrance to the pub, waiting.
Fuck it all for a lark. Maybe George was right. Maybe there wasn't a point, and he'd just been fooling himself all along.
[[ for the big guy, and nfb due to distance ]]