Beer spilled from the corner of his lips, ever in excess, ever pushing too far, taking too much, as Billy loped forward. He could sense more than see a circle forming behind him, hemming him in. No backing out now. He wasn’t a fucking pussy.
Billy laughed as he crushed the empty can in one hand, tongue flicking out over his lower lip, and then he tossed it idly to the side. Someone else was going to have to clean up this hellhole anyways.
“King Steve!” he declared in greeting, and held his arms up to his sides. “How kind of you to grace us with your presence. You done begging for a peek up Wheeler’s skirt yet?”