Chapter 95

SHANE KINCAID

The bartender slims his eyes at me, wiping the clear pale glass with a rag that looks like it’s been years since it has touched any water or soap.

He masks it all with concern as he asks the same question he has been asking me for three years.

“Are you sure you haven’t had too many?”

I look at him and I answer the same way I’ve always answered.

“No.”

The same drill occurs.

He pours me another glass of this filthy establishment’s alcohol, topping my glass and asking himself whether I’m not going to die one of these days.

I can’t die though. Not the way I want to anyway so I stay.

I visit the same bar, spend a decent amount of my day time here while the other amount of time I spend in my office, brooding, signing treaties, acting like I’m content with life and it’s the same without…her.

The small glass feels miniscule as I take it in my hands, swirling the brown liquid like it somehow holds the answer to everything.

It doesn’t have the answers though.

The answer itself is