“So, he’s a f*****g nutbar?” Owen glared and tossed the napkin ball he’d been working in his fist for the last fifteen minutes directly at his brother’s head. Restaurants with liquor licenses were still hard for him to manage. Especially ones that had that the nice little section set off to the side, with the lowered lights and the polished wood and the neon and the jukebox, sitting there tempting him with glittering bottles and sparking glasses.
“And the award for being the most ignorant prick alive goes to…” Owen slid his hand out game-show-hostess style, directing it towards Dennis. “Well, give me a break—”
“He’s not a nut,” Owen sighed. “He’s got a couple of misfires when he gets anxious, that’s all. Besides, it’s not like I’m completely issue free.”
“That’s my point.” Dennis nodded
