Cian Doyle - Fiction

https://theoviebooks.wordpress.com/ The bar smells like stale beer and desperation. I’ve been here too many nights to count, nursing the same glass of whatever’s cheapest on tap, watching the same faces come and go. Nothing changes. Not in this goddamn town, anyway. But tonight? Tonight feels different. Maybe it’s because I’m wearing this stupid shirt I found at the back of the closet. It's a little tight around the middle, showing off more of my gut than I care to admit, but it’s clean. An