Some more time goes by, and now we’re caught up to where this story began. I’ve got my own place, and Mike moved in as my roommate. A part of me f...lt kind of relieved that maybe I won’t have to choose anymore. Now that Mike and I are living in our own place, I may not see Jean as much, and the sexual tension might die down…. WRONG. A week goes by after living in our new home, I’m home alone after just getting off work, and Mike won’t be off work for another four hours. The doorbell rings not. It took a few moments for my eyes to adjust to the low light in there. As I stepped to the side out of the way of the door and waited for my vision to adjust, my nose was assaulted by the distinct odor that permeated the air of the joint. An aroma that any biker, trucker, or oilfield roughneck would instantly recognize. A smell compounded of spilled beer, stale vomit, old sweat, and a coppery tinge of blood. I felt right at home. I walked over to the bar. ‘Beer.’ I said to the bartender when he. More

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