A few minutes after that he was pulling into the parking lot at Bob’s Liquor, and then shuffling on his crutches toward the entrance. The doors were a pain in the ass. They weren’t automatic, so it took some juggling to get them open, and the guy behind the counter didn’t seem inclined to come over and help.
Aaron grunted at him as he moved past him down the aisle. Jesus, after this trip he’d more than earned a drink. A six pack of beer and a couple of bottles of whiskey should do him for a few days. Aaron wasn’t na?ve enough to tell himself that his drinking wasn’t a problem—he just didn’t give a fuck about addressing it right now. His life was a mess, and drinking dulled his too-sharp senses, and he was okay with that.
He peered at the shelf of whiskey bottles, and then straightened up so he could see over to the counter. “Hey, can I get a hand over here?”