âTwo victors for the price of oneâ Abel hummed as he drowned his bag of fries in ketchup. They wouldnât serve him anymore, not until heâd eaten something theyâd said, so ever compliant, here he was about to ram a bag of fries down his throat so he could order a double whiskey and avoid sobering up completely. He was standing at the bar, making eye contact with the bartender as he popped each bite into his mouth. âArenât we luckyâ he finished his thought, finally turning to the person next to him. âWant one?â












