- Shopping Bag ( 0 items )
Connor arrived in the United States the way countless other Irishmen had over the last century. On a boat.
Luckily for him, the freighter he was on paid well for unskilled labor, and he had a handful of the unfamiliar paper money in his pocket as he wandered into the city. Baltimore had seemed like it would be smaller than Boston or New York, but it looked huge to Connor, who had rarely even been let out of his cage long enough to see a tree or some grass.
The noise ... the noise was like the pit on the busiest fight of the year. It made him wince, made him hunch down in his sweater and peacoat, his watch cap pulled low over his eyes, hiding his scarred face in the dark.
People paid him no mind, for which he was grateful, but he still had no idea where he would lay his head this night, or how to put food in his rumbling belly.
The pubs were scattered along the street, some bright and busy, others dim, people slinking in and out, smelling of ale and grease and flesh. The further he walked, the fewer dim taverns he saw and the more bright lights poured out on the street.
People were coming and going, laughing, giddy with food and drink and the hope of fucking and...
Damn it straight to Hell!