"You know that I'd do anything for you," Drake says softly, the words a confession that he can only voice because he's a man walked through the valley of the shadow of death and Homer Jackson is in his bed.

He slowly climbs out of bed, knowing he's thin and wasted where he should be ale-bellied and brawn. He tucks his nightshirt into his trousers, sensing the urgency with which Homer wants this done.

And then he starts to gather all the bottles from the table - he figures it's better to take them all rather than risk leaving a bad one behind.