Hell of a night

Who: Dutch and Jesse
Where: One More Round
When: Evening

And on the seventh day, the Lord created gin. Then he fucking rested, Dutch mused with a smirk to himself as he raised his glass for a drink. Seated at the bar in what was nearly his own personal spot, Dutch was doing his best to tune out the steady din and clatter of life around him, to at least turn it down to a murmur. He'd been eager about this day; a day off from the shop, a chance to work on starting the next batches in his distillery, but of course the city and it's weather weren't going to allow that.

It had started in his building, of course; a ruptured pipe and blown fuses. And every time Dutch managed to corral one problem, another had reared it's head. When he'd finally been done seeing to his neighbors' needs? Well, a burst pipe in the shop would back up business for at least a day, so he'd taken the time to shut down the water main before getting to his distilling. And after, when all he wanted was a drink or four? Of course the Round itself would lose power, and the owner would look to him for a speedy response.

So he'd earned this drink, the two before it, and the one that he planned on having next. Dutch would've liked to think he'd earned some peace and quiet too, but with so much of the city apparently losing power and plumbing? The Round was definitely busy, given that they had both. Another drink beyond this one, and he could abandon the crowd to their own ends, head home, crack open a bottle for himself, and hide for a few private hours.

Jesse, well. Jesse was just having a really hard time at the moment. With all the shit with his sister, he didn't know what to do. He'd never in his life kicked any family member out of his home, but he sure as hell did the other night. And he'd not gone to find her yet. He knew he would...he knew himself more than well enough to predict that. So...for now? He was drinking.

He'd not actually gone on anything resembling a bender in ages. Well before he'd gotten himself shot, though with the weather lately, that injury ached something fierce. His thigh felt tight and there was a dull throb going on. He was really hoping that when he'd had enough to drink to forget about Evie, that that would die down too.

He set his empty beer bottle down on the counter, then knocked on the bar twice to get a new one.

Glancing sidelong at the rap of knuckles, Dutch had to smirk to himself. It was never a good mood that necessitated saving the very words someone would use to order a drink, and he'd definitely been there himself. "Hell of a night, hey?" he rumbled conversationally, knocking on the bar as well and sliding his glass forward, "Night like this, I'm even disappointed these folks made it out. A spot of quiet goes a long way with a drink." And he was definitely interfering with that quiet, but three stiff drinks had a way of loosening Dutch's tongue.

Jesse looked over, and didn't say anything for a long moment, assessing. "Yeah, it is a hell of a night." he agreed. He also glanced around. The place wasn't too packed, but then, some nights it wasn't. he'd been by the Round a lot more often when he'd been younger, before he'd quit pulling jobs and the like. It was the place most people he was associated with tended to frequent. But still, he hadn't been around in a long time. Not since his baby girl had told him enough was enough. Tonight though...tonight was different. He killed a good quarter of his beer when he got it, eyes hitting a middle distance. "Hell of a night." he repeated, knowing he was just repeating, but that really did say it pretty goddamn well.

"Sounds like you'r record's got a scratch," Dutch joked in a low voice, nodding thanks as a new drink was set in front of him, "Way I see it? Something special goes into that... that or a few too many rounds. Could be either, not too sure how long you've been sittin' there, myself." He smirked, never a pleasant expression on Dutch's face, and turned a bit towards Jesse. "And don't think twice 'bout telling me to mind my own, you know? Most folks do." Just to his side, the barkeep snorted back a harsh laugh at that. "Most folk tell you to go to hell, Dutch," the barkeep opined, "And then I gotta clean up. None a'that tonight, hear?"

"Maybe a little too much to drink. Or not nearly enough. Can't tell yet." Jesse said. "And there's a lot that goes into it. No one twists a man up like family." he said with a heavy sigh. It was true. No one could quite fuck with your head more, make things difficult for you like your own blood could. Nope. he was just not dealing well at all. It really, really sucked.

Dutch laughed humorlessly there, hoisting his glass up without a care as some of it sloshed over the edge onto his hand. "I'll goddamn drink to that," he agreed readily, chasing the words with a swallow of gin. After all, while he'd never blame Cheyenne, knowing it was all because of the people who'd taken her? She was why Dutch was here nearly every night, getting too drunk to think that he could do something about her. "You ask me? Sounds like not nearly enough, but we've got time," Dutch noted as he finally felt the wetness on his hand, shaking it off and digging out his cigarettes, "I'll contribute your next bottle, no doubt there. Could say I'm a man in favor of untangling the bad wires, or at least drownin' them until they stop sparkin' for a spell."

"I would gladly take a little oblivion at this point." Jesse said, killing more of his beer. "I'm pretty sure the wires crossed in this mess aren't untangleable. I think they're much more the kind you need to drown out or learn to live with, but I'm not so sure that's a wise plan either." he said, propping his cheek against his closed fist for a few moments. "Some people don't have the sense they were born with, even when they should."

"Truer words," Dutch murmured in agreement, thinking unknowingly parallel with Jesse in that moment. Evelyn, or Amelia as he knew her, and her leap into the maw of working at the Drake... "Thing is, like you said? Neither option's a good one. Learnin' to live with something's just a fancy way to say it's killin' you slow," he said knowingly, "And drownin' 'em out? Hell, that just leaves you exposed when they surface." Dutch knew that all too well, the way misery could creep up your spine at the worst of moments. "Temporary fix, you know? So... family?" he asked inquiringly.

"Yeah." Jesse said, pretty much to everything Dutch said. Agreeing with his assessment, and yes, it was family. "My sister, at the moment. Lately she seems more like a stranger than anyone I ever even knew." he said, and the fact that that bothered him on a fantastically deep level was very clear. Jesse wasn't the best at hiding things in the first place, and now he'd had a few, and therefore it was even worse.

Plenty of times, Dutch might have cracked a sour joke here. Luckily, all the ones that sprang to mind were jokes he'd punch someone for asking him, not to mention how plainly upset Jesse looked even with the scant details about his problems. "You considered trying to force her hand?" he asked in a low rumble, "I mean, most folks'd call that a low-class move, and in a lot of the city it would be. But in a lot of the city, folks don't force a hand for someone's own good." Which assumed quite a bit about what this guy's sister was up to, but if it was anything good? He wouldn't be here drowning his sorrows and speaking of how she felt like a stranger.

"Not a whole lot I can do there." Jesse said. "She's just...gotten herself into something stupid, something she should have thought better of, and recently she got herself hurt, and...who the fuck knows. They could be connected for all I know. I've been trying to hunt down the guy who did it, but I haven't had overly much luck yet. Just rumor. So someone's either hiding, or it wasn't like she said it was. And considering the pile of lies she's been throwin around lately..." he trailed off.

Sometimes Dutch acted without thinking, and other times? His powerlessness with so much of his life motivated him to act when he could. In this case, it was more of the latter, and the mention of Jesse's sister getting hurt drew his brow together as he scowled over the edge of his glass. "Got herself hurt?" he echoed sourly, "I know I'm pryin', friend, but if there's a safer place in this city to do it, I don't know about it. The hell happened? I hear plenty, just might be able to get you a spot more than rumors."

Drowning a little more of his beer, Jesse shrugged. "According to her, she got mugged. Said she...what the hell did she say...got caught after dark in a bad part of town? I'm a little fuzzy on the details right now of how she managed to accomplish that, especially when she's a hell of a lot smarter than that. Or, I thought she was. Lately, I'm not so sure. But she said she was attacked, and someone came and helped her out. Still, she was hurt." he said, and the anger he had about that happening at all laced into his words at the end there, edged his expression. "There were bruises all around her throat. Someone choked her."

For a moment, Dutch's scowl deepened to match Jesse's as he listened and considered what he'd do to someone who hurt his own family, what little there was. Then? The sea of gin parted enough in his head to let a connection form, just a guess, but one that smoothed out his expression as Dutch dug out his smokes and struck a match off the bartop. "Miss Amelia, works at the Drake?" he asked speculatively, not looking at Jesse as he puffed his cigarette to life, "Pretty little brunette?"

Jesse stilled a moment, and set his bottle down, turning more properly towards Dutch. "I don't know about the first part, but yeah, the Drake and a pretty brunette. Young. Big green eyes." He stopped a second. "Amelia?" he asked. She'd told him she was going under a different name. But she hadn't said what it was. He hadn't wanted to know at the time, honestly.

"Yeah, Amelia," Dutch confirmed as he sucked in an errant curl of smoke, "Could be someone else entirely, I know the Drake likes their eye-candy on staff. Fucking shitheels." He blew out a cone of smoke with a sigh, grabbing his drink for a hearty swing and smacking his lips in contentment. "'Course, my friend Amelia? She's got those eyes," he went on, nodding as he looked to Jesse with a grim expression, "An' when I found her gettin' jumped a few nights back? Best believe I stomped six kinds of shit out of the boy doin' it." He'd wanted to kill the guy, but oddly enough, calling the cops had never touched on Dutch's mind. In this town? It wouldn't amount to anything.

Amelia. Jesus she really is just living a fucking lie to everyone, isn't she. Jesse thought. "Sounds like her. Kind of reserved? Tells me she's just taking dinner reservations at the Drake?" he continued. "I don't. Get it." he kept up, shaking his head and finishing his beer before knocking on the bar for another one. "She's smarter than this. But she's been lying to me, lying to the rest of the family, working at that hole, and...jesus, I don't even know what anymore. She's my baby sister, and I just...I don't know."

Waving his cigarette back and forth between himself and Jesse, Dutch signaled to the bartender that the incoming beer was going on his tab, like he'd offered. "She was workin' the restaurant when I met her, yeah," he confided, "Recommended a good wine and all. And the first chance I had, I told her she oughta find somewhere else to draw pay from." He and Jesse were in absolute agreement there; the further she was from the Drake and Ian Sullivan? The better. "Look, pal... family? Sometimes it's better not knowin' everything. But you're her kin, and if you got questions I can answer, I figure Amelia's enough of a friend that I want her blood watchin' out for her." He smirked around his cigarette, trailing smoke from his nostrils as Dutch turned in his seat to face Jesse more directly.

For starters, do you know her name is Evelyn? Jesse wondered but didn't ask. Hearing that someone else had told her to not continue working there was mildly comforting, though, in a way that made him slightly more apt to trust Dutch. Not that he'd given the vibe so far that he couldn't be. But they were in the Round, after all. "And what'd she say to that?" he asked.

Dutch snorted bitterly, his face lining with a perpetual weariness as he shook his head. "That it wasn't where she wanted to be forever," he answered, stubbing out the remnants of his cigarette and gesturing for a new drink of his own. "'Course, I don't think there's ever been someone who wanted to be where they were forever. Curse of youth or some shit, I think." He leaned forward on the bar, head hanging a little as Dutch waited on his new drink and scowled like it was his standard expression. "So I told her the folks running the place were trash, offered to help her get a car so's she could find a new job quicker."

Jesse was quiet for a long moment. "Mighty generous of you." he noted. "...you sweet on her?" Because honestly? That was a move men made when they wanted something from a girl. Or when they were a little on the smitten side. Hell, he'd done it. He'd offered up expensive gifts for women that had caught his fancy. And he was aware that his sister was a beautiful girl.

The bitter look on Dutch's face wasn't easily dispelled, but that managed to do it. The lines smoothed out and shifted, transforming gradually into an incredulous expression before Dutch scoffed in disbelief. "I'm keepin' an eye on a kid who figured she could find her fortune in the belly of the goddamn beast," Dutch clarified, "A kid. I... my daughter'd be around her age, I'm thinkin'. And I run a little shop in town, so I can catch a deal on a car." And yeah, Evelyn did remind Dutch of his wife in slight ways, but not romantic ones. More like ways that drove him to keep her from meeting a similar fate.

"Last time I checked, a lot of men didn't really have age requirements." Jesse said, though it wasn't in an accusational manner. Just a justification for the question to start with. "What did she say to you?" he asked. "Did she want to go with the offer? Or did she blow you off?" Lately it seemed like all he got was the brushoff.

"Yeah? Well a lot of men need to get their front teeth kicked in then," Dutch noted in kind, smirking to himself. Like the ones he knew drooled over his daughter, the filthy old bastards who ran the Families. "And she... sorta stalled. Gave me a price range, told me she'd need time to round it up. I didn't think much of it, truth told. Hunting down a used car for what she said that's not a total heap? It's like findin' a clean cop."

"I'll cover it." Jesse said immediately. "Whatever the price is...I'll cover it." he continued. "...just don't say where you got it from. Make up whatever story you want. Charity, you found it, someone gave it to you, whatever." he continued. He had it. Technically, so did she at the moment, but still. He could manage that. If it helped at all, even in slight ways, he wanted to do it.

Dutch was quiet for a long moment indeed at the offer, nodding thanks for his new drink and raising it for a swallow. "On the short list of shit I hate, lyin' to folks is right towards the top," he eventually said, even if he had to do it regularly where Cheyenne was concerned, "Especially ones I can call friends." He took a heavier drink and let his tongue buzz numbly from the gin before Dutch fixed a fairly focused stare on Jesse. "Few more pegs down? Bein' asked favors by folks who don't seem to have a name."

"Considering her new carreer seems to be lying to everyone she meets? You might want to consider that first one a little." Jesse said. "And you never asked for my name." he pointed out. "For the record, it's Jesse. And yours?" he asked. He didn't give a last name, because it was almost certainly going to be different than the one he'd been given for 'Amelia'. He couldn't really tell what to think at the moment. Possibly, he felt a little bad for this guy, who seemed to want to look out for someone who was lying about things to his face. Even about something as important as her name.

"Dutch," he replied plainly, figuring the nickname was more commonly accepted than his actual name. Not too many people in town would know how to respond if someone asked for Elias Giacomo, after all. Of course, he had to pause a moment later, letting his drunken brain process the first thing Jesse had said. "...the hell you mean, lying to everyone she meets?" he asked warily, not liking the implications there one bit. Dutch had been more honest with Evelyn than he'd needed to be, after all: he'd invited her into his home twice, told her about his family, his past. Had she repaid him with a bottle of wine and a mouthful of lies?

Jesse internally cursed himself there. But then again, he was, in fact, drunk. His mouth was a little less apt to check with his brain before he said anything, and the second that Dutch asked for clarification there on the lies part of the equation, he knew he shouldn't have said anything. Fuck. "She's lying to her entire family about absolutely everything, why shouldn't she be lying to you?" he posed. "...I've known one hell of a lot of liars in my time...they're never just lying to one person. It's always something that just keeps getting bigger. Liars...they keep doing it." Which was at least true, even if it didn't quite answer Dutch's question.

The lack of an answer wasn't lost on Dutch, dealing with people like Ian for a while now had given him practice with evasive wording like that, and he never liked it. It was as if they could just dress up the emptiness enough that no one would notice, but he did. "Sayin' nothing's not really a rung up on the ladder," he retorted in a quiet rumble, looking to the barkeep, who slowly shook his head at Dutch's expression as if to say 'not tonight'. "Funny thing about this city? Honest folks got nothing to say that anyone wants to hear. Gotta defend themselves when everyone should just appreciate the fact that they had the stones to be honest," he mused, still in that low, thunderous voice, "Maybe you oughta check for your pair, or grab a different goddamn seat."

"Yeah, and maybe, just because I'm pissed at her, doesn't mean I want to sell out my sister." Jesse snapped, not really appreciating the lecture. "Family first, before anyone else, especially random drunk assholes at a dive." he continued. He grabbed his bottle, and dug into his pocket to cover his own tab, dropping it on the bartop. Yes, he was, in fact, incredibly pissed off with Evie. He didn't know what to do with her. He didn't even know where to start. "I appreciate you helping her when you did. And I'll still pay for whatever for her. But if you want the truth from that girl...you get it from her."

There was fire in his eyes for a moment, his empty hand knuckling up on the bar as Dutch felt his hackles rise. He could feel the bartender watching him anxiously, waiting for a swing at Jesse, and Dutch felt himself choking back words about how random drunks like himself were why Jesse still had a sister. "Stay fucking put," he snapped finally, shoulders heaving twice even as Dutch strained to focus on the reality of the moment. Jesse wasn't insulting him, wasn't goading him, he was thanking him even as he did what Dutch would've done. He was protecting his family. "I'll talk to her, count on that... and I'm sorry," he added in a much lower murmur, "You got the drunk asshole part dead to rights, pal. I'm no people person. Hell, I'm pretty sure your sister's still spooked by me. But you... you've got those stones."

Jesse considered for a long moment, ready for a fight if it came to it, but in the end, it didn't happen, and apparently, weirdly, reason won out. maybe. Kinda. He wasn't totally sure. Still, he did sit back down, accepting the apology, and the rest. He laughed, just a little, shaking his head. "Yeah, some people say so." Though at the moment, his old gunshot wound was flaring up worse than ever and he wondered if it was the weather or his mood. He didn't know. "And as for her...she's reserved. she's smart, though like I said, lately, it doesn't seem like she's acting with any sense. If she was really all that spooked I'd think she wouldn't talk to you at all."

Without an outlet for his anger, and whether he realized it or not, Dutch was letting the rush he'd felt slide into apathy and resignation. Had he really been on the verge of attacking Jesse over something so simple? Was he just a beast, the same as he'd been for the Giacomos but in a poor man's clothing? "That's this hellhole of a city," he muttered, "Good sense takes a hike when someone starts thinkin' there's an easy way to a better life. Work at the Drake, do a favor for a Russian, peddle some dope... you name it. We all lie to ourselves 'bout how easy it is to get out." Depressing or not, the familiar ground was comforting. "And her? I think she likely felt like she owed me. A mug like this doesn't get a dame like her to say yes to dinner."

Jesse could in fact, imagine that Dutch didn't exactly get flocked with the ladies. He didn't say as much, though. "The easy way gets people killed." he said, tone distant, but mostly it was because he was thinking about Evie again, and how much of a stranger she was now, and how he felt like there wasn't a thing he could do about it. How there wasn't any help, how she just...should know better. Far, far better. "I just wish I knew why she was pulling this shit." he added.

The lucky ones get killed, Dutch thought darkly, The rest of us get to keep on livin'. But that was too somber even for this moment, and he kept it to himself. Later, maybe, if Jesse left early enough, Dutch would punch a stranger in here. Or go downtown and start breaking car windows outside the Drake, hoping to get a Walker or Hagel or even Ian's car. "Don't know the whys of it, Jesse," he said finally, "But I know who to blame if things go south for her..." If they did? Dutch might do something himself. And whether he did or not, he couldn't withhold the knowledge from the only person he'd let go before him in such an instance.

After another drink, Jesse watched Dutch out of the corner of his eye. "Specifically?" he asked, wanting to know if there was a name. If there was? Well. He'd be needing that. He was still hoping that Evie could walk. Just get out of there, maybe do so quietly. Before anything else happened, before she wound up witnessing something that she shouldn't, before someone decided she might have overheard something she shouldn't have and it would just be easier to take her out than hope she didn't say anything.

"Specifically," Dutch answered, nodding slowly and smirking as the barkeep drifted away from them like he didn't want to hear another word. "Unless she gets in a right unholy mess? Ian-fucking-Sullivan, manager at large. Giacomo bootlicker and bag man," he confided, even as he mentally reminded himself that technically? He was too. He just didn't love the position like Sullivan. "He was in here last night, even. Slunk off with his tail 'tween his legs about two seconds before I glassed him."

Ian Sullivan. Noted. Jesse thought, most certainly going to remember that name. He'd have to see what he could find out about the guy. Well, what else, beyond what Dutch was telling him. "My sister involved with him?" he asked. Since really? He didn't know. He didn't know if she had a man in her life, and he was still under the opinion that he couldn't trust her as far as he could throw her, so as far as he was concerned, she could have a man in her life and just not told him about it.

Dutch shrugged uncertainly, the grimace he wore suggesting that he liked the idea as much as Jesse did. "No clue," he answered more concretely, "Whenever I brought up the Drake, she'd talk about somethin' else. Makes sense now." He was riled by the idea that Evelyn had deliberately misled him, but he wasn't going to wallow in it now. "Definitely a chance, though. He's the sort of greasy shit who wraps himself up in a nice suit and smiles pretty for the skirts. And no offense to your sister, but I doubt she'd see the slime drippin' off of him."

"Lately I'm not too certain she's seein clear on anything." Jesse said, not doubting it for a second that Evie could get taken in by some slimeball. But he knew the name now. he was quiet for a moment, thinking over everything, mind just sort of drifting over it all. "She didn't seem to think it mattered, her workin there. Like just because she was low level or something, that it wouldn't mean she wasn't in a bad place. Like she's untouchable."

"Curse of youth," Dutch said again, smirking to himself and remembering when he'd felt that way, then how quickly he'd realized he was wrong. "And I can see the thinking, even. The Drake runs a lot of legit business, and if you're low on the foodchain then that's all you handle. But her... well, pretty girls don't stay low for long. Everyone's got their uses, and everyone's got their price. I think she'd feel like she didn't have one until she really needed somethin'. And I'm hopin' she's out of there before she does, s'why I'm trying to help. It's easier on my hands than pulping Sullivan."

"All it takes is seeing the wrong group of people together. Overhearing the wrong conversation. Even if what she's doing is just little, legal shit, that doesnt' mean she isn't in there, where a whole lot of buisness is being done. and I think we all know that to them? Little girls like her? it's easier to just make them disappear than it is to worry they won't keep their mouths shut." Jesse said, voicing his real fears. "...And if they do decide to lean on her, where they gonna look first? To her family. I've got a daughter. Fifteen." He took another long pull on his beer. "But she hasn't thought of any of that, I'm sure. Un-fucking-touchable. I don't care that she's young. What this is is fucking stupid. I'm never going to claim that I'm completely on the level, but I'll tell you one thing. I never messed with the likes of them. Even when I was young and stupid."

He could've kept talking with Jesse about the dangers that came with Evelyn's job, up until Jesse mentioned his daughter. Somehow, without moving, without batting an eye, every line in Dutch's face deepened into stark clarity, a grief mask of sorts. Was it going to happen again? Was someone who thought they knew it all going to shatter a family? "Then get her out of there," he growled, "Lock her in a closet until she's been gone so long that she gets fired if you have to. But don't give her the chance to think she knows better, you hear? A pair of days, I can find a car. A few more? I'm sure she can find new work. But you need to force her to do this, because you're goddamn right. If something goes wrong, they'll come for you, for your kid. And your sister'll wish she was dead for causing it, but they won't let her die."

"If what she wants is that? Even if I did do that, it wouldn't stop her. I can't keep her under lock and key." Not that the idea didn't hold merit. But he knew himself pretty well too. he wouldn't be able to pull that off for nearly as long as it would take. "She doesn't care." he added. "I told her, I brought all this shit up...she doesn't give a shit. She just stood there, blank faced, not barely saying a word. Just...nothing." He remembered it, and he killed the rest of his beer, and then asked for whiskey instead.

"Then I'll do it, I'll tell her how rotten the core of it all is," Dutch decided, staring down at the remnants of his drink. Did he want another? Need another? Yes to both, but the prospect of what he'd decided to do just now had him so full of loathing that he wouldn't allow a fresh glass. Wallowing in the hate would help him express it when it was time. "I'll track down the car first, I doubt she'll ever want to see me again once I say what needs sayin'. Which is for the best." He'd have to tell her a specific version of the truth, the ugliest version of his family that there was, and hope that it was enough. "You just plan on being there after I do."

"She's my baby sister." Jesse said. "Even if she has turned herself into a lying, cold hearted..." He couldn't say 'bitch'. It was where the sentence ended, but even now, pretty damn drunk, he couldn't actually call her that. "Got a place I can find you, so I can get you the money for the car?" he asked, gazing at the whiskey that was set in front of him before he picked it up and knocked it back, the ice clinking in the glass.

Focusing on his intention to expose himself and his kin made it easy for Dutch to just admit what came next. He knew he was a drunk, everyone who frequented this place knew it, but he never liked to say it. "Right here after seven, every night," he answered Jesse, "You bring what you wanna spend, I'll find you somethin' that costs more. She said two-fifty, and I'm not taking some damned commission." Still, even with his pseudo-confession of a drinking problem? Dutch almost felt proud as he slid his glass forward with a few gulps still in it. He was already drunk, why tempt the chance of throwing up?

Jesse took that in, not making a judgment there. Sometimes, he was very aware that his life could have taken a very different turn. And if he hadn't had Jessie at home with him? It very likely would have. So, yeah. No judgment. It was just duly noted. "I'll see you soon, then." He could get the money together pretty fast, after all. He had it.

Nodding slowly, Dutch slipped from his seat with a hand pressed to the bar to steady himself as he found his balance. If he stayed here, he'd break down and get another glass. If he didn't? There were windows to smash, provided he didn't lose his nerve. "Have one more if it'll settle you," he advised, "Or don't. Either way, you get home to that daughter of yours quick. Cherish her. Find me when you need to." He started past Jesse, one hand clapping the younger man on the shoulder in passing, maybe to steady himself again, before Dutch started to push through the thin crowd with a mutter of 'get the fuck out of my way'.

He'd left a note for Jessie to head to his parent's house that night, but he took the advice all the same. Killing the whiskey, he headed out, not sure how he felt about things. If he even thought this would matter, or not. Lately, things seemed so far out of reach. But he could hope, he supposed. Something had to happen. He just hoped it was the kind of something you looked back on years later and shook your head at, not something you looked back on by heading to the cemetery.