There are no bars in Friant. There is a weed dispensatory because this is California. But there are no bars. Jackson’s Roadhouse is not even ten minutes outside of town though. And Jackson himself was one of the guys on the river bank with a hunting rifle.
I don’t go to many parties but I’m going to go ahead and say there’s no drinking like the drinking at a “we banished the hundreds year old monster that’s plagued this land and my family line specifically” party.
I haven’t as drunk I was I was last night in a long time. I was dancing in front of people. I have to be really fucked up to do that.
Chelease disappeared at some point during the drinking. I would have liked to thank her in person. I mean I did thank her, but one more time before she left.
This problem was around for hundreds of years and we took care of it just like that. There’s probably a spell out there for everything that’s causing problems. You just have to find it. There should be a magic google so I can always find out what to do.
The next morning sitting on the porch of her cabin I asked Betsy what she was going to do with her life now that she was no longer the ancestral caretaker of a water beast. After a while she laughed and said that she had no idea.
“I never thought this day would come. I thought this was going to be my life. Like it was for my aunt and uncle and my grandparents and all the way back. I feel like that guy at the end of Shawshank. I’m out and what the hell am I supposed to do?”
Not a bad problem to have. All things considered.