Re: An hour later
Benedict Kine falls down into the muck of the pig sty, splattered with all manner of disgusting and as much as he should be alarmed, he can barely form a coherent thought.
The mud is cool against his burning skin, and the Boston air is feels good in his hair. Candy...or was it Cindy?...she was so nice to take off his clothes for him.
There's something he was supposed to do tonight, somewhere he was supposed to be...wasn't there?
The sound of the hogs is the last thing he hears as he tries to remember what was so bloody important about tonight...
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