"Three ninety-five." Stony popped the cork, hitting the fan. He poured two shots. Butler picked up his drink. "Hold it. You gotta do it like this." Stony raised his cup, then carefully linked elbows with Butler. "Continental style."

"Faggot."

"L'chaiym."

They downed their drinks in one gulp.

"Nineteen seventy-four, an excellent year." Butler smacked his lips and belched.

"Yeah, for Tab. What time you close up?"

Butler looked at his watch. "Any time now."

"Well, lock the door and let's finish off this bad boy."

Butler hung the "closed" sign on the inside of the glass door and locked up nice. Stony refilled the cups. Butler made himself comfortable on a padded stool while he delicately sipped his drink. Stony caught his hand. "No, no, don't sip. The true flavor of Cold Duck can only be appreciated when chugged." Stony threw back his head and emptied the cup. "See, that way it tickles your nose."

"Hey, where'd you learn all this stuff?"

"I'm a charter member of the Frank De Nardo Memorial Drinking Society."

"Bad taste." Butler shook his head sadly. "Bad taste."

Frankie De Nardo, a friend of theirs, had died at fourteen by downing a quart of straight gin for a ten-dollar bet.

"Shut up and drink." Stony poured off two more. "Hey, speaking of Frank, your uncle really flew the coop, hah?"

"Yeah, he really got shook. You know, times change. The poor guy thought he was still livin' in a Jewish-Italian neighborhood."

"Yeah, an' Roosevelt's still the Prez."

"Teddy Roosevelt." Butler poured himself another.

"So you're really gonna do it, huh?" Stony smirked.

"Yeah, I'm really gonna do it."

"Butler's Hosiery Palace."

"Butler's Hosiery Palace."

They smiled at each other, then cracked up.

"To the Palace!" Stony raised his cup. Butler tried to link elbows, but Stony pushed him off. "Whatta you goin' queer on me here?"

"No man! That's continental style!"

"It's Greek to me." Stony poured another. Butler sipped. "Get it?"

"Get what?"

"It's Greek to me."

"So?"

"Greek, you know, up the ass? Queer?" Stony grinned expectantly. He was beginning to have a hard time focusing his eyes.

"Looka this fuckin' guy!" Butler tilted his chin in Stony's direction. "The world's only eighteen-year-old sot."

"Butler, you got no sense a humor. That's the first sign a someone goin' insane, they lose their sense a humor." Stony poured himself another, splashing the counter. Butler produced a roll of paper towels, started sopping up the mess.

"Extra absorbency, hah? Looka this fuckin' guy." Stony cautiously filled his cup, then moved the bottle to Butler's cup.

"So, Stones, what's happenin' with you? How's that construction thing goin'?" Butler poured himself two fingers.

Stony sighed, elbows on the counter, and rolled his forehead on his folded wrists. "I dunno... I dunno what to tell you." He looked up and covered his mouth, rubbing it absently with his fingers. He seemed to sober up. "Lotta pressure, Butler, lotta pressure."

"What, the construction work?"

"Nah, the job's a gut, no sweat. It's jerk-off work. I'm talkin' about somethin' else."