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Shana's Brown Earring.

He was an intimidating character. His size was cartoonish and abnormal. He belonged in the freak show as The World's Strongest Man, or in the wrestling ring on television. He kept his eyes down and made his way to an empty barstool. He set down his bag gently, his muscles relaxing in the warm heat of the building. He shifted his massive frame on the stool, his feet resting on the floor. The bartender asked him what he'd like and he ordered his burger and alcohol.

He stared at his hands, looking at the lines in his palm. He watched his fingers flex, as he closed his fist and re opened it. He ran his left hand through his dark beard and rubbed his jaw. He hadn't realized he had it clenched while he was walking, it was feeling sore now. He left his hand resting on his face and let his elbow lean on the counter, looking deep in thought, though thinking of nothing. His food came, he devoured it in minutes, though relishing in the taste of a burger; he hadn't had one in years. It filled him up fast. He chased the burger down with the shot of whiskey and asked for water. He would have ordered more, but his money supply was limited and he had to be smart. He gulped down the water, waiting for his ride.

Half hour or so later, a hard slap came down onto his back, that sort of thing would make almost anyone flinch, but he only turned his head to look. Standing there was he his old friend, biggest damn smile on his face, arms wide open for a hug.

"You big basturd!" Greg yelled, loudly. Max stood, towering over his friend and leaned down, picked him up and squeezed. "Ugggh!" Greg groaned, feeling the air squeeze out. Max set him down and held out his hand, to shake.

"How ya been, man?" Max asked, his deep voice, low and heavy.

"Good, good, can't complain. Let's get you outta here, or do you want another drink?"

"Naw, I'm good. I could use a good sleep right about now." Max said, lifting up his bag and throwing it over his massive frame.

"Alright, the guest room is made up, Amy's fine with you staying with us for a while. She thinks you're coming in from Minnesota, so let's roll with that story, alright?" Greg asked.

"Alright," Max replied, following his friend out of the bar, and into his truck.

They pulled up to the house a little after 9 p.m. The view was nice, open fields of perfect white snow, no neighbors for miles. The country was a good place to live. The back of the house was lined with trees maybe a __ mile or so back. The house, a one story 3 bedroom modern home shone brightly against the night sky. The snow glistening from the lights on inside, like a million tiny diamonds.

Max followed Greg into his home that he shared with his girlfriend of a few years, Amy. Greg and Max had been friends since they were teens. They had shared a foster home for a few months before they were switched out due to the parents' meth lab getting raided. They were split up but had formed a bond after the things they had endured with that monstrous family. They had stayed in touch all these years and Greg had visited Max in prison, without Amy's knowledge. As far as she knew, Max was a hard working man from Minnesota, coming to Michigan for just a change of scenery.

Max walked through the doorway into the house, ducking his head slightly. He bent down to take off his wet, slush caked boots. His socks were soaking wet and his feet were numb.

"Here, your room is this way," Greg walked through a hall and opened the door at the end, it was a small room; it had a tiny dresser, a full size bed, and a closet, but it would do. It was better than the cell, it was better than the streets. Max set his bag down on the bed and sat down.

"Thanks man," he shook his head, looking over at his friend. "I really appreciate this, you have no idea."

"No problem, were family. Fucking brothers. I don't forget that." Greg said, holding his fist up for Max to pound. "C'mon, you need to meet Amy, I think Jenna's here too."

"Whose that?" Max asked, following Greg out of the room and down the hall, into the kitchen.

"Amy's friend.

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