Raniya Chowdhury

I met a snake oil salesman at my local saloon. He tipped his fedora at me when I walked in, which made me nervous, so I sat at the opposite end of the bar, ordered my drink of raw milk to nourish my tapeworm, and sipped silently. In the time it took me to finish my glass, the snake oil salesman downed three Jägerbombs before he shambled over and pressed a meaty hand onto my shoulder.