The bar was called The Rusty Nail, though nothing about it was rusty. The nails were rusted, sure—ru
The bar was called The Rusty Nail, though nothing about it was rusty. The nails were rusted, sure—rusted through the floorboards, rusted into the frames of the broken tables, rusted into the skin of the men who sat at the bar with their hands wrapped around glasses of whiskey they could barely afford. But the bar itself was just a bar: a long wooden counter, a row of bottles behind it that had...
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