Dinner is eaten in silence, as usual,
tensions between the three of us strained because I was right,
Kent’s still holding a grudge against me for my harsh words this
morning. He wants an apology that he’s simply not going to get.
After he’s finished eating, he stands and
digs into his pocket, pulls out a wad of dollar bills, a handful of
change that he scatters on the table in front of me. “That’s it?” I
ask, skeptical. Roughly a hundred dollars, maybe a little more—I
wonder how many twenties are folded into his back pocket, hidden in
the space where his flask curves away from his ass.
“It’s been slow,” Kent tells me, the
scowl on his face daring me to contradict him. I close my hand over
the rolled bills and keep my mouth shut. He sits down again, picks
at the noodles on his
