He chuckled. "how many seasons are there in a year? Eight? Sixteen?"
I said, "Well, this has been a weird year..."
"And a long one! Thirty-two seasons long? Sixty-four?"
I said, "What happened to make things so messed up? Why am I illiterate?"
"One-hundred-twenty-eight...two-hundred-fifty-six..."
I said, "Riddles, man, always with the fucking riddles."
"Five-hundred-twelve...one-thousand-twenty-four..."
"I don't think I'm two-hundred-fifty-six years old just yet," I said, "you can stop this any time."
Paul said, "So how old are you?"
I looked the same. I was the same. I was, "Twenty-five."
"And how long have you been twenty-five?"
I turned away from him. "I think I'm going to need a shot for this."
Darren said, "Sure thing, boss," dumped my beer on the floor and filled the stein with a mix of liquors. The drink was strong and heavy and probably flammable. I barely made it through half the glass on my first drink.
I said, "So what year is it, Darren?"
He didn't say anything.
"Paul?"
Nothing. I said, "You guys need to stop fucking with me. Trying to tell me I don't even know what year it is."
I looked up at Darren, who was cleaning up around the bar, then at Paul with his U.S. Postal Purse. The bar was empty and I was alone. "For fuck's sake," I said, and finished my drink, "finally a moment to myself."
Obtained key 8 |