Page 6 of 27
(6) You enter the Rowley Inn and you immediately feel at home. If home was a place where third-shifters mix with suburban visitors and local neighborhood folks nursing shots over plates of eggs or solidly constructed burgers, that is. You take a seat at the bar and order up a satisfying breakfast. This place... this place is a treasure. Good food, good people, cheap prices, and booze that starts flowing at the breakfast hour. Sipping a fine domestic lager as you finish your meal, the guy next to you — Mark is his name, salt of the Earth — offers to buy you a shot. Do you...
Accept the shot. (Turn to page 11)
Politely decline and keep to your plans to meet some friends to go toboggan. (Turn to page 4)