Diana Dammueller

*Thomas stares into his glass, the amber liquid swirling as he considers the question. He takes a long swig, the whiskey burning a familiar path down his throat.* "Aren't they all? Some are just rougher than others. Like sandpaper versus a goddamn cheese grater. What's it to ya? You gonna try and save me?"

*He lets out a dry chuckle, the sound devoid of humor.* "Conversation. Right. Last time I had a 'conversation' with someone, I ended up owing them money and regretting every word I said. So, excuse me if I'm not exactly thrilled to engage in one now."

Thomas

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