The galley of the Cape Rouge, Tuesday afternoon

Duke was doing homework. Therapy homework. Duke had never done a lick of homework in his entire public school career, but here he was, pen whirling between the fingers of his left hand, staring down at a sheet of paper with three columns on it, doing homework.

It mostly involved the pen twiddling. And drinking. There was rather a lot of drinking happening. More drinking than he'd felt the need to engage in in a long time, actually.

And here he'd thought that regular therapy would make him want to drink less.

(It had. His regular talks with Linda were a major factor in the fact that he hadn't felt the need to drink heavily in so long. But this was -- this was homework about his mom. And whenever possible, Duke preferred to do anything thinking about his mother with bourbon within reach.)

[Open to the partners, or any visitors who might stop by!]