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Chapter 317: I’m Sorry Mama
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The bar was dim. not in the curated, atmospheric way of high-end lounges but in the way of places that couldn’t afford proper lighting. Neon beer signs flickered against nicotine-stained walls. The air smelled of cheap lager, sweat, and old wood soaked with decades of spilled alcohol.
This was not his world.
When Brandon went to a bar, it was to places with velvet booths and aged whiskey lists that required explanation. Crystal glasses. Imported cigar smoke curling beneath ...
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