Blood & Bourbon

It was a bitter cold and windy fall night driving South to a quiet beach destination. In need of some rest, I took the next exit leading to a small town I otherwise would have passed without a thought. A drink or two wouldn't hurt. As I drove through the desolate town, I found a hole in the wall bar tucked away on a side street. The lights flickered on the sign that read Moe-Jack's. It looked shady as hell, the type of place that only welcomed in-the-known regulars and not passersby like myself. I could almost imagine a grizzled bartender asking, "You're not from around here, are you?" while eyeing me suspiciously. In other words, it was just what I was looking for. He walked into the wrong bar at the wrong time.