Of all the drunk idiots around you, Sam seemed like the least reliable to trust with your life. Rushing to the edge of his shoe, you throw yourself onto the sticky wooden floor and watch as the two giants leave the bar.
You can hardly get to your feet as the constant tremors of stomping feet create hundreds of mini-earthquakes in their wake. You had to act fast or else you were certain to get stepped on like a bug. The bar was on the left side of the building and was packed with people waiting for their drinks or making conversation with the cowgirl bartenders. To the right of the bar was an open dance floor and tables where even more people were bundled together singing country music. Back behind it were the restrooms. Behind you was the front door but next to it was this massive brass bowl on a pedestal that sort of looked like a spittoon.
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