@anish-sahni The Portside Some time before the storm; the week Matteo Lazkano died.
Most of those who aren't in the know had left early, and the rest had been shut out, told to hit the bricks and find another dive for the night. No, today was solely a Warwick affair.
But even the other Warwick wolves have slowly flaked off by the time the witching hour rolls around, leaving just Yuisa and Anish in the dim light of the place and its grungy patina and dying neon signs and smoke-yellowed beer adverts that seem to, by aura alone, keep the Portside from falling in on itself at any given day of the week.
Many drink to forget; tonight these two drink to remember.
Between them, it's a second bottle of spirits;
Yuisa pours herself a glass, and then Anish. A third sits, filled and un-drained, at Teo's favorite seat, where it's sat the whole night.
No sign of his brother, the motherfucker. Somebody's got to keep the light on.
They've said their salutations and they've waxed poetic about him, about kinder times, not these dark days with their mean dreams. What and who he's left behind, they'll be cared for. Warwick protects its own,.
Yuisa puffs her lips out, leaning on the bar, laying her head on her arms. "That shit in October, now this..." The liquor's cupping her brain, stirring resentments. She's broken an extended silence at this part, and she looks to Anish without standing up. "Feel like things have conspired against me from day one. Now this." Teo's backing had given her legitimacy - legitimacy that is now up in the air.