Oregonal Sin

Doyle was careful. Still so very, very careful. People understood drinking, at least. But he couldn't be too drunk. Didn't want to be drunk at school or too hung over. So he spent very little time at the saloon during the week.

But these days, he had a stool that he spent most of Saturday night on. Sipping whiskey was still his favored drink, more expensive but worth it. He had one at the moment, only half drunk as he stared off into the middle distance. Not drunk yet. Not enough, at least. He blinked as someone took the seat next to him, picking up his glass. "Sorry. Do you need me to move?"