Three pit bulls stood facing him. His instinct told him to climb back over the fence to safety, but with all the alcohol he’d consumed, his motor skills were impaired, his gait was wobbly, and sheer terror had frozen his feet in place. Before Jamie could put his fingers through the chain-link fence to get the grip he needed to begin his climb, the dogs were on top of him. They gnawed at the flesh of his calves as if they were eating chicken wings served at a Super Bowl party.
Good, bastard!
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