“I at least have two-thirds of a right to drink this bar’s supply.” Alec shot the comment at the gentleman whose beer he slid across the counter towards him while simultaneously sipping at his own glass of scotch. It wasn’t unusual to see a bartender, particularly Alec Blanchard, sipping into the product he was meant to be selling to other paying customers. It was a surprise he wasn’t fired, but he always figured the owner took a little pity on his current living situation. “Alright, now you,” Alec moved over to the next person, “Pick a poison, any poison. What can I get for you?”








