1922

He was at a bar, drinking a glass of whiskey. It want that busy, a small sickness going through town. Patrick was a doctor though, he tried to take the precautions. It was an underground speakeasy, for the homosexuals in the town. A few men were there, presumably their own couple. He stayed low, his hat in front of his face.

You walked to the door, after trailing the halls of the restaurant it fronted as, knocking three times, speaking the secret passcode.

"Id like to be treated to a dance, miss Clandestine."

With that passcode, after a few seconds, the doors opened. Patrick looked my way.