(no subject)
Dexter's been in the bar all night. Once Mike wandered off, he had finished his slowly-nursed beer and then retired to an empty table in the corner. He'd been observing the other patrons of the bar ever since. (Except for the few hours he'd fallen asleep at the table. He'd intended to ask for a room, but hadn't gotten around to it before sleep got around to him.) He's slowly getting used to all the different kinds of people who frequent the bar, and trying not to think too much about what might be waiting for him back in Miami.
For now, he's too intrigued to go home. He's waiting for Mary.
For now, he's too intrigued to go home. He's waiting for Mary.