"Thanks, Mom," I mutter, and I would've said thanks, dad, but that probably cuts a little too close to home. I inhale most of the burrito before I can even taste it, thank God, and then I'm wandering toward the booth Mike pointed out.

It's not a bar, but it's close enough, and with them still in my sights, I make my way toward the makeshift counter, gun still heavy against my hip.