Beat it

It’s been a week later from getting my new job and Charlotte telling me her whole story.
I was in the back, carrying kegs from the delivery truck into the freezer when I heard the bell attached to the front door ring, “Frank, you better give me the strongest gin that you’re allowed to sell here,” The man said. Frank, the curious man that he was, asked, "May I ask the reason why?
The man sighed, “My wife’s a bitch. It’s like as soon as the band went around her finger, she began bitching at me. And don’t get me started on my failure of a daughter.”
My ears perked in interest at that statement. The man continued, “I mean, she wants to be an artist. There’s no money in that. I told her to get a better job, told her that whoring around would get more an hour. But she’s as stubborn as her mother.”
I dropped the keg I was carrying and it made a loud clatter. The men stared at me as if turned blue, “Nolan?” Frank asked me.
“Uhm…I don’t feel well….I gotta run,” And I did, daring not to look at Charlotte’s father.

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