Part of me wants to order the strongest thing they got, just to prove I can handle it. Just to be a little shit. But instead, I worm my way out from between them and step up to the guy who appears to run the place -- poor bastard -- and order what I hope is a beer.

I'm used to shit. For a while, on the island, shit was all we had, but whatever the plunk onto the bar in front of us, is at least a couple steps down from that.

"Bottoms up," I mutter, cutting an annoyed look at a guy a few chairs over who's got his eyes on me.