We never had a chance.



The sun was just going down and it was fast becoming a clear, crisp April eve.



“Well, what’ll it be tonight, boys?”



The

question was absurd. The Meg Chittenden-Robert Gregory Browne jello

wrestling pay-per-view was still three hours away, so continuing to

drink was, of course, the order of the evening.



The “boys”

consisted of five: Barry “The Hair” Eisler; a little too good looking,

a little too… Continue