It was all the same to Sam, really. Alcohol was alcohol, and beer on tap was pretty hard to fuck up. "No, I demand that you take me to Martha's Vineyard," he quipped, scooting his chair in. "It's fine, Joansie. Business going well for you?" he asked. It had seemed like a reputable establishment to him - no shady characters lurking around looking all crazed. "I just want to make sure, before you jab a rusty needle into me. It looked pretty clean."