“attention. Billy lit his second cigarette from the end of his first one and flicked the butt to the ground as Linc heaved himself off his bike. Billy felt the heat of his gaze. Then heard his gravelly voice. “You’re that hang-around, aren’t you? The one’s been sittin’ at the bar lately.” “Yeah,” Billy answered, “I—” but his words were swallowed up by sounds his brain couldn’t quite process right away. A rush of air, a squeal of tires, the screech of metal against metal, and the howl of”
―
Lisa Regan,
Her Final Confession