Meet What They Send You

To Be the Salt of The Earth

"I always say, if you must mount the gallows, give a jest to the crowd, a coin to the hangman, and make the drop with a smile on your lips."--Robert Jordan

Cory made sure the drinks kept coming, along with bottles of water. Switcher was completely tanked, and Cory knew she should have stopped ordering with the first bottle of water, but alcohol was no longer affecting her. While she didn't feel completely sober...she didn't feel completely drunk either.

The idea of going back home was keeping her sober on some scared survival level.

Did she want to go?

No. She had tried very hard to put everything behind her.

Did she feel like she had to go?

Yes. Because Michelle deserved that much.

"Drake...another round please."

Drake eyed her then glanced at Switcher who appeared in danger of sliding underneath the table and Kris, who was fiercely concentrating on a spot on the ceiling.

"Okay...which one of you is driving?" He asked.

"I am." Cory automatically said. And it wasn't a lie.

"All right. I'm bringing more water as well. If you stay much longer, I'll have to charge you for cover. We have a band coming in tonight."

Cory shrugged. She hoped it wasn't some redneck group, who's crowning glory was mastering how to play "The Devil Went Down to Georgia." But she already knew it was. She sighed.

"How much is cover?" She asked.

"Five apiece."

"What kind of music?"

"Kind of a mix of everything. They're called Lore. Country, some rock, a little pop. They bring in a good crowd."

"All right. Another round of drinks, bring me the bill and add cover charges to it for the three of us."

"Got it."

Cory glanced at Switcher who was busy gazing around the bar like he didn't know where he was.

"Hey...party boy..." Cory tapped her hand on the table to catch his attention.

"I ordered another round. We're paying cover to see the band that's coming in too."

Switcher groaned.

"A band??? You know they're going to be dreadful. I already know they're going to play "Cotton-Eyed Joe."

"I'm going with The Devil Goes Down to Georgia, myself."

"Jesus, aren't they the same?"

"Really?? A band??" Kris said, excited. "I've never watched a live band play, the closest I've gotten is out on Fremont Street!"

"Kris, never lose that I-Just-Fell-Off-The-Watermelon-Truck a few minutes ago enthusiasm. It keeps everything wonderful. Well...until you hear them play. Then all your hopes and dreams will be dashed, much like an ice cream cone dropped in the dirt."

"Is that so?" Drake commented as he brought more drinks and water. "Have you ever heard them play?"

"I don't have to hear them play to know they're bad." Switcher replied, reaching for a new drink. Drake pursed his lips.

"The fiddle player is my brother. His name's Dutton. I suggest you enjoy their sets if you're going to be here."

Drake put the bill on the table and walked away. Switcher waved an irate hand in the air.