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Summary
Several fingers of whiskey later and Rick found himself running a shaky hand through his tangled hair. The other was clutching onto his glass as if it would gain consciousness and run away. Whenever he drank to excess, not getting quite so far as to black out into a dreamless sleep, Rick felt a depression like no other. Questions filtered through his dazed mind that he couldn't even answer sober, never-mind loaded to hell and back. Why was he even in this motel?
Oh, yeah. Daryl—God Damned—Dixon. Now he remembered.
Series
- Part 3 of Daryl Dixon is Trans Because I Said So
