A dark mood seems to have come over me.
By Mark L. S. Stone
“Are you sure about this McClowski?"
“I’m sure.” I finished my drink.
“Never thought I’d see the day,” he said, shaking his head.
“I wasn’t counting on Budapesht.”
“No one was.” He stood. “You change your mind, let us know.”
I laughed in his face. “You think I’m quitting on a lark, Donovan?”
“Just so you know,” he said, and left.
I waved for another, hoping to get drunk enough to forget.