It was one of the few open bars in New Orleans this early in the morning. Slipping into the dark, corner booth, Vivian pulled her arms around her burning chest. Everett hadn’t said a word, just pulled her along, until finally, they found an open door. Walking through just as the sun started to break through the fog, Vivian found little comfort in the windowless, underground bar.
The only other person in this place was the bartender, who seemed less than pleased at their arrival. Vivian theorized he probably wasn’t used to people up this early in New Orleans, let alone crawling into his place. It seems to be one of those places you had to know of to go to, and Vivian didn’t know about it. But as Everett guided her towards the furthest corner of the room, she caught a shared look, as if Everett was someone who knew.