Sometimes, I would order him a drink for being such a good bar friend. He would offer me advice on women, he would pass me a cigarette when I was out, he’d even lone me a buck when I was short. Not a bad guy.
He was always wearing these creepy wooden masks and speaking in this broken backwards tongue though, and I always thought it was a little off, but really, I try not to judge on those sorts of things.
I mean, one day he bit the head off of a goat after doing a shot of tequila with me. Another time, he sacrificed a virgin before we ate our plate of nachos. But it never really bothered me, he always treated me right.
I never figured him for a great evil. Hell, I even invited the guy out to the ball game, and thought nothing of it. I thought nothing of it when the beer taps started spewing blood. Nothing when my hot dog ate the fat guy sitting next to me. Was I supposed to blame him for those things?
He knew a lot about the players, and it was nice just to listen to him talk about their stats and souls. So for whatever he was, it wasn’t hard to be his friend, and that’s something I look for in people.
I never thought he was a bad guy.