"Opium industry, must be fun," James Castle says to himself.
James looks down into his double of scotch on the rocks and swirls the ice around, a tired and sad look in his eyes.
"My dad was a candlestick maker, my grand-father was a candlestick maker, my great-grandfather was a candlestick maker, and they were all named James too. Hell of a time picking up the ladies as a candlestick maker. Heh, like I could pick up ladies. I can't even get people to call me Jim."
James looks small in his lonely corner of the pub, talking to himself. He throws down the double in a single gulp and stands to go get another. When he stands people always look his way, another thing he despises. The small and pathetic form from the corner has transformed into a massive titan among men, standing a full head above the tallest man in the room. He walks across the room to the bar, slamming down his glass. He checks his pockets, finding a little money and a lot of wax. He sighs.
"I guess make it your cheapest vodka this time, Luke."
James then looks up to see that Luke hasn't shown up yet. Luke not being there breaks James' routine. He scowls a bit at this inconsistency.
"You'll do Tim."
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