Josh Wolfson

Honor Amongst Thieves

Flannigan’s was the kind of establishment that could have been a cornerstone of the block, if not the whole neighborhood, but for a seedy edge that turned away the locals most nights. The place stank of spilled beer with an undercurrent of something rotten, and the timeworn sawdust did little to stop one’s feet from sticking to the floors while walking from the wobbly tables littered carelessly about the place to the grimy wood bar behind which a bartender casually passed out drinks. Patrons fell into two categories – shady or young, both groups feeling very at home in the dank drinking hall, and both wanting nothing to do with the other.