*Dean paces up and down, waiting. He doesn't care showing he is nervous, he is.
No point in pretending. And Taylor may not show up after all, might just be playing cat and mouse, for lack of better entertainment.

Go slow, that was Jack's advice ( Read more... )

*Dean can't manage to write much more. The list will have to be enough ( Read more... )

Dean sits down at his kitchen table, it's late at night and very quiet. He picks up a notepad and a pencil and starts scribbling on it. He brought the phone with him, the extension tangled near his feet. There's an half-empty glass in front of him, a bottle of scotch, and a business card waiting near the phone. He jots down a list...St. Patrick's ( Read more... )

Fear makes the adrenaline go.

Makes you tremble.
Shiver.
Sweat.

Makes you alive.

I am not sure what I'm doing, or better, I know what I'm doing, only I also know I shouldn't be doing it.

I might be risking more than I am bargaining for.
Getting into shit that doesn't belong to me.

But it's so, so tempting.

*digs a hand in his pockets, ( Read more... )

...I was a bartender ( Read more... )

If you like this place, we can meet here.
Or propose one of your choice.

Things are happening.

Only a handful of days now ( Read more... )

( Introduction )