"Shit, man. I don't know." Erik muttered, waving the smoke away from his face. He zipped up his navy hooded sweatshirt and peeled at the label from his beer. His fingernails were chipped and scratched but provided a good tool to carve back the damp paper which so plainly stated that he was drinking a "Samuel Adams lager."
Alexander didn't really have much input, which was fine. It was the expectation that he would listen and offer the occasional
damn. He took a lengthy drag of his cigarette, puffing two or three times before finally bringing it deep into his alveoli. The carbon monoxide snaked down into his lungs, bullying out oxygen in the gas exchange at the point where the blood vessels were thin enough to allow for free sharing. This provided a welcome lightheadedness while the nicotine added a bit of a buzz as it snuck into his brain and excited the proper receptors. He contemplated this as he stared into the soft orange glow burning at the tip.
"I mean, what the fuck?" Erik flicked his cigarette out into the grass covered dunes.
"Who knows, maybe she didn't pay the electric bill and her phone got cut off..."
"Holy shit, I was talking about the fact that they stopped selling cloves at that Shell on Monroe." Puling out a Camel
filtered, he shielded the wind and lit it, producing a crackle of affirmation as the flame caught. "I mean, what do they think is going to come of that? Oh...well I better stop smoking
anything now that we can't suck down cloves...its asinine." He shoved the dented pack back into his blue jeans, creating more creases in the worn cardboard.
"Oh yea, that sucks man...totally." Alexander's blue and yellow plaid flannel was whipping around his stout frame. He tucked his hands inside the open buttondown and wrapped it around. "Its cold, bro, why are we out here? Its November. You do know we live in Amesbury,
Massachusetts, right?"
"Ah, Amesbury. That's right, Zander. We live in Amesbury." He set his bottle on the weathered wood, and motioned for Alexander to move back as he pivoted around to face the sea. He put the Camel to his lips and pointed out into the grey sky. He took one step, "OH SHIT! Sonofabitch!"
Alexander erupted and clapped his hands. "Saw that comin, man." He stepped over to pat Erik on the back and encourage him with additional laughter. "Well, it was a solid effort, I think it woulda been good from 25, maybe 27 yards." He said, with squinted eyes looking out into the moonscape of the sand.
"Idiot." Sitting down, he leaned up against a warped post that was apparently holding up the walkway. A rusty screw met him at eye level, reminding him he wasn't completely safe.
The salty breeze was getting moist and colder with every gust. He exhaled a cloud of his own into the afternoon.
Defeated, Erik looked down to his Saucony Jazz sneakers and tied his left shoe, which must have gotten loose during his field goal attempt. His hands were stiff and numb. The frigid air inhibited the calcium exchange in his muscles, making minor, delicate, motions like those required to loop a lace around itself, seem like climbing Everest.
"She'll call, man. She will." Alexander straightened his knit cap, also pulling it tighter over his head. Putting out his cigarette on the bannister he suggested that they go.
"Yea. I guess so, I think I felt some rain a minute ago." He offered up a hand and Alexander brought him to his feet. There was one Sam Adams left and he grabbed it, tossing the empty box over the side. They shuffled off the walkway and onto the parking lot pavement.
"Heh, sorry about your foot. Youre a real dumbass."
"Screw you." He half-heartedly shoved Alexander into the green recycling bin on the sidewalk. "I mean, whatever, it hardly hurts anymore."
