The Alley is thankfully one of those old-timey establishments, not the glow-in-the-dark techno-bowling variety. I couldn’t take one of those. I don’t have the bandwidth for spaces like that. They’re a trip wire for my anxiety. “Remember,” Bea whispers, shoulder to shoulder with me. “Stick to the truth as much as possible. Keep answers short. We’re both annoyed with them.” “That won’t take any acting,” I mutter.
