"Hair of the dog!" Shannon bellowed, and the man serving him returned a good natured conspiratorial grin.
They were in on a secret, she thought. Just like everyone here. Out of the corner of her eye a man in an Evel Knievel jumpsuit entered the bar, pulling up a stool next to the lonely woman who wore the burka.
"Who is that?" Margaret asked, her previous train of thought derailed.
Shannon's attendant gave her a frown but said nothing before walking away. Anonymity was one of the founding doctrines of The Preci...
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