Suddenly, Provo looked up, but he didn't expect Ware to glare back defiantly, making Provo feel somewhat guilty, instinctively averting his gaze, hanging his head low to stare at the bucket of murky water in front of him—
It wasn't black, but a nauseating grey.
Ware could not hold back anymore, blasting full force.
"You should be grateful, at least pretend to be, for how many bills David and I covered for you. Do you have any idea how hard it is to run David's tavern? My life's a mess too, God, I can't even find a job, I can only hope the bartender work at David's tavern can last a bit longer, just a bit longer."
"Again and again we tolerated your tantrums and rage, we're not your slaves; we don't need to bear your bad temper unconditionally, but we shut our mouths, always standing by your side."
"Why?"
"Why?"
"Because we're friends. Because our hearts all beat for the Kansas City Chiefs. Because our lives are all dreadful with no hope in sight."