“He’s the fag from the bar,” one of them said. Oh, so that’s what this was? A hate crime. There were four of them, and I liked my chances of taking two of them, at least. Bolstered by the shots of courage and lime, and with my back to the wall, I sized them up, raised my fists, and grinned at them. “Yeah. So tomorrow you can tell all your friends you got your shit clapped by a fag.”
