Drinking himself to death seemed like a mercy, to Logan. He wouldn’t do it purposefully - maybe that made him a coward or maybe he was holding on to something he didn’t quite understand - but if it came he’d take it. Maybe then he’d finally be able to rest his bones and find some measure of peace with Casey. He was a man who considered himself one of the few who had nothing to lose. So why not blow the rest of his stipend on a watered down tribute to a woman long in her grave? Only seemed appropriate to honor the ghost which lived in his heart and haunted his soul.
Logan just watched Ehren through bleary, hazy eyes. It’d been more than a long day. It’d been a long five years and he doubted there would be many more to come at this rate.
Two more small glasses sat in the original line untouched. Turning toward those vessels Logan swept up another and knocked it back, setting the now empty glass where it had been before.
“Thank the stars we don’t drive around here,” the girl behind the bar sighed, tutting at Logan. “I would’ve had to cut you off a long time ago. You’re gonna kill yourself like that, you know.”
His eyes lifted and found her standing there, looking at him as if he’d gone crazy. A nod would come as a reply. He knew. He knew all too well. The last of his cash came out of a pocket of his uniform - wads of bills and a few coins - which were placed upon the countertop. The flat of his palm would push the stack of crumpled, pitiful things toward the bartender.