As fate would have it, they met at the front door of the place. “After you,” Sarah spoke to green clad Al opposite her. “No, after *you*,” he returned, like the gentleman he is, unlike a certain other person in her life we won’t speak about just yet for fear of him show… oh darn. There he is. Straight from the beach and drunk off his tits.
“Ah, *there* you are, *hiccup* love of my liffe, appfle of *burrp* myyyy…” He falls down. Sarah doesn’t move toward him to help. Al picks up on the worst. She turns toward the sober man here again. “Let’s go inside together,” and she holds his hand while they walk within. She feels warm, Al thinks. She feels… good.
Sunklands 