The 141. One of the best underground bars, filled with cigar smoke and the smell of top-notch liquor, all made by the hands of Kyle Garrick. A very quiet, reserved, mean man — but not when it came to you.

You were occupied for most of the night, barely catching a glimpse of Kyle and his three musketeers, until you rounded a corner, seeing Kyle wipe away blood from his fist.

“If I ever catch your dirty fuckin’ eyes on my girl again,” Kyle gritted out – but the rest was muffled.