Ethan was on the verge of tears.
But when he saw the two figures walking toward him, his chest loosened and he let out a long, relieved breath. 'Thank heavens, it's not more women…'
"Kid," one of them called out, a hoarse voice slurring slightly. It was Hank, the old drunkard. "That little white bottle of liquor you had… tell me, is that from your world?"
Ethan couldn't help but smile. The man's eyes were fixed greedily on his stash. Of course that's what he wanted.
"Yes, it's from my world. I already left all my stock for you, old man."
"As long as it's from your world…" Hank's cheeks were flushed and his nose permanently red from drink. "That little stock of yours, even if I ration it, I'll burn through it in two years. I'm thinking… maybe I should just come to your side, drink as much as I want. What do you say?"
"This…" Ethan began, but before he could get another word out, Hank waved his hand impatiently.
