I don’t know if it’s because I’ve been wallowing in misery for months or if it’s a reaction to the toxic levels of Green No. 3 in my beer, but I blurt out my next words without thinking. “I think we should see if I’m a match.” Clyde laughs and slaps me on the shoulder. “That’s a mean joke, ya little shit. I like it.” I blink, gears turning in my head, before shifting on my stool to face him. “I’m not joking. I’ve got two working kidneys and nothing but time on my hands right now. Wouldn’t hurt to check.”
