That evening, after we finished our day at Studio 8, Stage L, Guy had dinner reservations for us at Mouflon Vex, a French place on Tottenham Avenue we frequented because it was just four blocks from our apartment. After walking inside and being greeted by a young female named Tiffany Rae, we were escorted to our regular, two-person table at an expansive floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the choppy Monongahela River.
Just as we were being seated, someone rudely and purposely poked me in the ass.
“You two men should sit with us this evening and have dinner.”
Pissed, I spun around, ready to bark at or slug the bad boy in the chops. To my surprise, Caster Ray stared up at me and grinned.
He said, “Good evening, Landon. A pleasure to see you.”
To Caster’s right at the four-person table s
