“Oh, you did go to college,” Chloe said. Jim put his hand over hers. He probably got that from a Starbucks cup.

“I think the best option is just to be right,” Karen said. “Even if you can’t see the merit of the other argument or whatever. What matters most is being right.”

“Ah, youth,” Chloe said. “I remember when I thought you could be right about things.”

“You’re right about some things,” I said. “Somerset Maugham, Buster Keaton. The Replacements. The things that matter.”

“Those are the things that matter?” Jim said.

“To some people,” I said. “Interesting people.”

It wasn’t in my best interest to fuck with Jim, but I couldn’t help it. Back in college—my peak period of undisguised contempt for others—I’d always had my bigger, stronger buddies around if I took things too far. Now I was on my own.

“I guess I usually have other stuff on my mind,” Jim said.

“I’m sure,” I said. “World hunger and such.”

“You ever thought about not being such a fucking smart-ass?” Jim said.

“Thought about it, yeah,” I said.

“Hey, guys,” Chloe said. “Let’s not get into dick measuring here.”

“That’s really more your thing, isn’t it?” Jim said.

Chloe got up from the table and walked out the door.

“Hey, nice work, bro,” I said, and took a sip of my beer. Jim reached out and punched my glass into my front teeth. I heard a hollow thunk. The glass dropped heavily onto the table, intact. I tasted blood in my mouth.

“What the fuck, Jim?” Karen yelled.

I tongued my front teeth. One of them felt broken.

“You need to stay away from us,” Jim said.

“You know where I’ll be,” I said through the blood.

The old-timers at the bar stared at me like cattle as Jim brushed past them. Just another night in the old saloon, I guess. I held a cocktail napkin to my mouth and called a dentist Karen found in her smartphone. He said to come in the morning. As I gimped my way out the door I looked up and down the block for Jim. No sign of him.

Back at my house Karen asked if I needed anything; I told her I needed to be alone. I took three Percocets, poured myself some whiskey, and lay down on the couch.

Some time later I heard somebody knocking. I’d actually locked the door, for the first time that summer. “It’s Chloe.”

I thrust myself up onto my working leg and opened the door a crack. “Where’s Jim?” I said.

“Jim’s dead,” she said.

“What?”

“Not really. I don’t know where Jim is. Can I come in?”

“You really shouldn’t be here,” I said. “You heard what he did?”

“He called to tell me,” she said. “I hung up on his ass.”