radioactive

“Nothing to see.”

“Who says I need a reason? Can’t a man drink just to drink?” he replied, downing the rest of the amber liquid in his glass. He didn’t have any sorrows, not that he was willing to admit to at least, and he didn’t have shit to celebrate. “You a bourbon girl?” he asked, raising his now empty glass to get the bartender’s attention for a refill.

“I’m a night owl,” he answered matter-of-factly. “I could be saying the same to you, though. This is private property.”

“Five languages? Damn, color me impressed.” Honestly, Adrian only knew conversational French by fluke. Most of the time he was just guessing anyway. One eyebrow quirked. “I do. Business is booming, actually. Everything that’s happened in this cursed town, I call job security. Keeps people drinkin’.”

           “If no one asked questions they didn’t want to hear the answers too, no questions would be asked.”

“Not true. I try not to ask questions unless they have a straightforward answer. Usually something along the lines of, ‘You want another beer?’”

“One crack, and it might be your last.”

“Someone’s touchy. Throw a steak on it, or borrow some of my sister’s makeup, I don’t care. We’re going to miss our window if you’re sitting ‘round here cryin’ over a black eye.”

“My parents were too busy with other things to care what I was putting into my lungs. --You speak three languages? I know some French. Mostly curse words.” He grabbed the lighter from her and lit the cigarette between his lips before handing it back. “Guess they figured I was killing myself.”

           “Why does everyone say that as if it explains everything – it’s complicated.”

“Maybe it doesn’t explain everything, but it saves you from getting an answer you don’t really want to hear.”

           “Meaning?”

“Meaning the answer to your question, it’s complicated.”

“Since I was fourteen. Got a light?”

“Relax, darlin’. No one said you did. I was going to ask if I could bum one from ya, actually.”

“Harder than you may think sweetheart.”

“Shh. I was trying not to wake you but I never mastered the art of cooking. You crashed on my couch last night. Don’t ask me where your left shoe is.”

“What time is it?” he mustered, more to himself than to whoever’s couch he was waking from. He lifted his head and looked, a grimace tugging on his lips. “Okay, what about my shirt?”

         “ – You can keep the beer we can just say this pays for one of those times that you have helped me.”

“Nonsense. Help yourself to a drink. Now or later, offer stands at the bar too.”

    “Sorry— I’m a bit hyped on sugar right now.” Biting her cheek, she shifted the weight on her hands. “So where are we heading exactly?”

“--That tent over there,” he replied, pointing two fingers in the direction of the tent as he carefully balanced the cooler.”

“Like two sides of the same coin. --Ahh, I’ve been there once or twice. Can’t give the competition too much of my business. Once I get all this set up I may just have to ease up. For my health.”

“Say that to the stray grey’s in my beard. --Shit, really? You always did want to be a doctor.”