“You sound like a country Western song.”
“And you sound like a sourpuss bitch.”
I hear his voice in my head, but the words are all recycled. Ancient history. Ghosts from the past.
Another one occurs to me. One I haven’t thought about in a long time. Curious, I slide off my stool, grab my duffel bag, and walk outside again.
A light drizzle has started up. To my surprise, it’s warm. Each drop like a soft kiss on my skin.
I take a few steps away from the building and turn around to face it again. Cillian’s voice is playing in my head like he’s guiding me.
“There was a little alleyway on the side, hardly big enough to fit through. Always left my fat friends behind here, the poor bastards.”
My gaze tracks down. Sure enough, wedged between the porn shop and The Free Canary is a little sli
