Good Enough
"I cannot help what my feelings are!" I snapped, as steam came out of my ears. My friend Shelly just smirked as she cleaned off some glasses before wiping down the bar top, like the stereotypical bartender she was. We were in Shelly's bar, "The Jim", named after her deceased husband. His running joke was the customers could honestly say they were at 'The Jim', or going to 'The Jim'. It was a little corner establishment Shelly and Jim had bought and fought to keep solvent. The hours...