AU
Fucking Jekyll.
Fucking Hyde.
Fucking Europe.
Joe Manco may not have a marriage anymore, but he's got a bottle of fucking Black Bush whiskey, the stuff so sweet and pure that the Lord of Dreams drinks it when he's in the mood for a stronger tipple, and that makes the world all right. So long as it he doesn't think too much about red eyes and red hair and the long, pointless talk. Talk, talk; he's half-sick with the talking.
He's not a talker. He's a killer. He deals in lead. 'Course, neither of them would've died of lead poisoning, and maybe he's gotten soft, but he didn't shoot. He just packed up and left. He's wearing a pair of cowboy boots so new that they squeak and an ancient green serape and he's been stinking drunk since Thursday night. Everything since then has been maintaining, the prescription of Dr. Booze. One drink as needed when thoughts of wife recur.
It's Monday, and Joe Manco's already got his whole week planned out.
Fucking Hyde.
Fucking Europe.
Joe Manco may not have a marriage anymore, but he's got a bottle of fucking Black Bush whiskey, the stuff so sweet and pure that the Lord of Dreams drinks it when he's in the mood for a stronger tipple, and that makes the world all right. So long as it he doesn't think too much about red eyes and red hair and the long, pointless talk. Talk, talk; he's half-sick with the talking.
He's not a talker. He's a killer. He deals in lead. 'Course, neither of them would've died of lead poisoning, and maybe he's gotten soft, but he didn't shoot. He just packed up and left. He's wearing a pair of cowboy boots so new that they squeak and an ancient green serape and he's been stinking drunk since Thursday night. Everything since then has been maintaining, the prescription of Dr. Booze. One drink as needed when thoughts of wife recur.
It's Monday, and Joe Manco's already got his whole week planned out.