Frank loomed forward, like a shadow in the darkening room. His breath, hot on my face, smelt like rotten meat.'Same fee?' I said before he could speak.'Same fee.' He showed his teeth in what was almost a smile. A black outline fell over him as the redhead stepped up. 'What you doing these days, Frankie?' she said. She had the grating voice of an addict. I would know. http://www.eastoftheweb.com/ I'd known my dad was dying for a long time, thought I'd prepared for the day when it would come, that I was as ready as he was. Then it did. And it broke me. I sat in some murky bar, the smell of burnt wood and vomit burning my throat, still in my black suit, no flower. Still crying when a barkeeper in a torn flannel shirt handed me my fourth pint. The lights in the bar were dim enough to hide the stains on the counter, and the other customers – lonely enough not to want to talk, too lonely to drink at home.