Half expected to find the Unabomber when we walked in. The place was pretty fuckin run down. Rustic is what a real estate agent would call it, but they're almost as bad as lawyers when it comes to lying. "Noticed this ain't the Ritz. Hell it isn't even a cracker." Maybe one of the burned potato chips in the bottom of the bag even.
Eyed the couch and shrugged. I'd slept on worse. "Nah, I like shitty couches." Threw my bag down next to the couch and put hers by the bedroom doorway. At least there was a cloth flap to separate things. Which was good, really...uh...good.
"Sure. Must be a good friend." Didn't have many friends that would leave whiskey laying around in their cabin. Actually I didn't have any friends with cabins. "You said there was a cage? Is it in the barn?" Wasn't enough room for one in this shack, at lest not for anything bigger then a shepherd.
Sat down on one of the stools across the counter from where she was pouring. Too bad we didn't have any ice yet, it must be over ninety degrees in here. Didn't see an air conditioner either. Reached over and turned a fan on, at least we had that. "Thanks."