After school Leah and I
went back to our usual bar.
I needed a drink.
I needed several drinks.
I told Leah my theory,
and she watched me like I was nuts.
“So, you’re saying your
guilt brought on these letters. Why?”
She was sipping on an
Amaretto Sour.
I was nursing a whiskey,
straight up.
I couldn’t tell her
why.
I didn’t know.
The puzzle I was looking
at was still scattered, and I made only one connection.
The big picture was still
a mess.
I took a drink, the
whiskey burning as it slid down my throat.
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