"Bushmills and a cup of coffee, black.”
These are the only words anyone in Austin ever heard me say.
I slid the shot glass a few inches to my left, in front of the empty bar stool next to me. The chairs on either side of me were always deserted, regardless of how crowded it got in that goddamn place. It would have been completely fair to call my disposition.. Unwelcoming.
The coffee was perfectly tepid, damn near approaching altogether awful, but you don’t order coffee in a Texas honky-tonk on a Tuesday night for the taste. You swallow and you grimace; and then you swallow again, if for no other reason than to make yourself feel like exactly what you were: Bad Electricity.
