Until a coin of light

“I don’t think this is really doing anything for me,” Noah says, making a face down at the bottle in his hand.

Ronan snorts. “You’ve had half a beer,” he says, draining the last of his third. “Keep going, I guarantee it’ll do something.” He tries not to wonder about where the beer is actually going, gets a mental flash of beer leaking into soil from a duffel bag propped up like a tent around a scaffold of pilfered bones, and then really tries not to wonder. In a civilised world, the buzz should always come before the headache.