MIDNIGHT RUN by Pen of the Damned’s Blaze McRob
A dark night. Clouds and no moon. No wonder he almost falls over the tombstones. Has nothing to do with the fact he’s flying high, caught in the loving embrace of the alcohol numbing his senses.
“Lights,” he mutters. “They need lights in here at night!”
The absurdity hits him. Who needs to see in here? The dead? No one else should be here. But he is. This is the perfect place to drink his ill-gotten hooch.
He was one drunken bastard before he even went down the alleyway behind the liquor store, but he was aware enough to notice old Harold, the evening counterman, standing at the far end of the building, having a smoke and trying to cop a feel from Lucille, the town’s resident hooker.
That left the store unattended. All those bottles screaming out to him, insisting he give them a good home. Ed listened to…
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