Winter Light

Taverty grunted and turned to make my usual: a shot of everything carbonated with ice.

“It’s this Santa Claus mugging business, Will,” Collins mumbled, his hand to his chin.

“A swinging St. Nick meant something else in my day,” O’Gill shook his head.

“They’re a vicious bunch of elves,” Murtin held up a finger for a refill.

“What I don’t get,” Taverty placed my drink before me, “Is why they don’t just ask for your wallet?”

“Right-o. After all, you’re loaded.” Collins threw up his hands.





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