Cemetery Street - Page 120/263

I turned away, grabbing the padded armrest I studied the grime atop the bar. Our silence roared. The miserable bartender kept his distance. A tremor lurched through me as, less than a block away, a freight train rumbled across the Main Street crossing. "Don't you go worrying about old Russell." Placing a leathery hand on my back, he continued "You have your own crosses to bear. Yes sir, You have your own."