Frank was a regular. The mean, ugly, bastard always sat in the corner and grumbled into his beer. I didn’t really like him, but he was seven feet tall, built like a linebacker and never caused any trouble.The other patrons avoided him, and he did the same. I tried to get him to open up, but he wouldn’t have it. He wanted to drink alone and be miserable, and who was I to judge?He did tell me once that he hated his father. When I asked him why, he just shrugged. “You think I’m a monster? He’s worse.”

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