Sam did another shot and slumped back against the stool, looking a little put off. How many had he had again? Two? Seven? Crap, he was supposed to keep count. He had a limitation, after all. Sam had easily learned it during the summer, where he did nothing more but constantly drink while moping about in trashy motel rooms and abandoned houses. How thrilling that had been. Except, really, it wasn't at all.
The bartender swooped back on over, looking at Sam expectantly. Sam held up a hand, raising three fingers. "One more. And then I'm closed, okay? No more servicing." He looked over at Lois and flashed her a goofy smile. "'Cept you. You can have service for free."