Chapter 76 Tristan

• I haven’t hit anyone since I left the military. My eyes narrow as I stare at my reflection. Tonight, I might. I step out of the car, the cool night air washing over me like a wave of adrenaline. The shitty motel with rows of rooms looms before me, a dilapidated monument to desperation and despair.
• If this is where Miles can afford to stay, no wonder he’s so bitter at life that all he can do is try to tear me down. A quick pop-in at the motel’s counter and twenty bucks to the old, African-American man behind the glass tells me Miles is at the bar beside the motel.
• As I approach the bar, my hands in my pockets, laughter filters out through the door, only making me angrier. A drunk hobo lay at the door with an empty glass in his hand. He glances up at me, and my expression must scare him because he jumps to his feet and runs away.