“Another,” she said, slamming the empty shot glass down on the bar. The bartender looked at her and poured another shot of cheap brown whiskey.

“Take it easy, Linda.” He capped the bottle and sat it back on the shelf.

“You might wanna mind your fucking business, Chester.” She hissed, choking down another swallow of burning brown.

“I’m just saying, honey, whatever you’re so bent out of shape about won’t get any better by drinking every drop of whiskey in the bar.”

“Goddamn you, Chester. Pour. Me. Another. Fucking. SHOT!” Linda yelled with spittle. Her eye was black, her nose fractured and swollen, and one of her front teeth was missing. Dried blood was crusted and flaking off her face in crimson streaks.

“Okay, okay, Linda. Maybe I should call Dale and give him a little warning that you’re headed his way.” Chester said, emptying the bottle into her glass.

“No, Chester,” she growled as she slammed a revolver down on the bar, “I reckon a fair fight was the one I already lost.”