"Nah, I fucked up with one wife, I don't think I could handle nine," he admitted and drained his glass. "And I'm not here looking to commit to any fuck-racist cult or deity." Desperation soaked was about right, though, for this place. Probably was a mistake to come here. Here he was, trying to find some remedy to spending all his time drinking alone in bars and he was here, drinking from an open bar wishing he was alone (well, not at this second, Jessica was entertaining).