5
Jameson
I climb out of my Jeep at the diner that my brother Forest suggested. Shading my eyes against the midday sun, I wish that I hadn’t had that last drink the night before. I’m definitely hungover.
I adjust my Ray-Ban sunglasses and head into the diner. The place is a little greasy spoon that Forest loves, painted bright orange inside and out. We eat here from time to time, but the owner always remembers us.
“Jameson!” she howls when I step inside. She’s manning the grill, wearing her usual all-black outfit, and grinning ear to ear.
“Hey there Ms. Parker,” I say with a nod.
I’m not even concerned about the fact that she got my name a little bit wrong. The fact is, she remembers almost everybody that comes in here, and that’s pretty f*****g impressive.
Ms. Parker points to the
