the man in the Vikings cap screamed at the cheap TV. “Arceneaux was wide open!” The crowd in Ziggy’s bar heartily agreed. Matt, who had no particular opinion on the subject, shouted, “Get some glasses!” He was in Minneapolis, and getting caught up in the excitement of the hometown crowd felt pretty good. Particularly when there wasn’t a lesion or pus-filled sore among them. For the first time in recent memory, Matt was actually having fun. He was getting shitfaced with a bunch of strangers in a sports bar he’d wandered into, yelling at whatever game happened to be on. It was a welcome release after the horrific experiences of the past few months. He pushed those dark thoughts away. The Vikings had the ball. A ruddy-faced drunk (Dave…or was it Steve?) clapped Matt on the shoulder. “Don’t worry. They’ll turn it around.” “Course they will,” said Matt. Probably…Dave waved at the bartender as he headed for the bathroom, gesturing back toward Matt. “Two more!”
