Chapter 4
Kyle figured he looked like one of those sad sack guys you see at bars in movies, TV shows, plays. You know the one, the guy hunched over his beer, frowning, with a line of downturned shot glasses in front of him. He was that guy, the same slouched shoulders, the same end-of-the-world expression, the same half-drunk glass of beer. The only difference was that he wasn’t doing shots. He wasn’t ready to get that wasted, at least not yet. Country music played softly in the background, competing with ESPN and some basketball game on the TV mounted above the bar.
The place, Hank’s, was not popular with Hamilton University students. It was a townie bar and its predilection for country music, domestic beers, and low tolerance for orders of things like soft drinks and wine coolers kept
