“You have a great smile.”

I deemed it satisfactory.

We were at a round table. Our drinks sat on the steel grated surface. I was gazing about. I felt a familiar tightness in my chest that I hadn’t felt in a long time. My eyes itched.

She was pretty but wore too much makeup again. She didn’t need it. Why’d she have to wear so damn much? She dressed nice, fashionable. Tight jeans. Her skin was maybe a bit pock marked but who gives a shit anyway? Her leg was crossed one thigh over another. Her boots were up to her knees. There were small beads of sweat on my scalp, just north of the forehead, even though it’s been getting colder by the day. I kept my shades over my eyes on account of the sun. If she kept hers on we’d make a slick pair.

It felt like I was going to throw up.

“I—I’m really sorry,” I said. “I have to go.”

“You do?”

“Yeah, I’m—I have to go. Here.” I left two twenties. “It was great hanging out. Take care.”

I walked away as she prepared to stand. I couldn’t hear her. My heart was clawing its way out.

A Prairie Home Companion was on as I sped up 280. I buried the pedal. Lera Lynn began a tune. Her voice quivered in all the right places and I fucking lost it. Everything I’d managed to stay ahead of just gathered at the front of my skull. Some tears gathered up at the bottom of the shades. She kept on singing real pretty. She didn’t need all that makeup. I looked at myself in the mirror and grinned until my face hurt. I eyed the small bottle of whiskey I kept in a gun holster.