Chapter 8 | Dirt & Seeds

I stared at the golden brown liquid in the glass, bent my head and snorted the sweet aroma of casks and age. The third I savored. No toss of the head, no little grimace as the whiskey left its mark on the back of my throat. The third was coddled. .... In this crummy old hotel. But you'll never guess to who you're talkin'. No. You couldn't ever guess to who you're talkin'. Then one night there's a scream in the night. And you'll wonder who could that have been ...