It was the year 1987, and drag bars were still a hard thing to come by, except Malachi had been to drag bars a million times, this wasn’t new. Almost a routine at this point, most Saturdays he showed up to go have some drinks, and watch the shows. It was either that or do something drastically stupid like throw himself into a pit of vipers just for the thrill of it, he wouldn’t die anyways.

Currently, he was debating on the drink he’d have… Whiskey or some kind of fruity drink that comes in a neon color. Difficult choice, neither of them would get him drunk either way… He wished they would. Only thing that could get him drunk were drinks made in hell, annnd those drinks sucked.