Earl finally decides to actually say something. “The problem is the methane. We told them. I went over there on Ted’s boat. No, it was the schooner, the little schooner that Lyall used to have, but he lost it in a bet. Or he sold it; that’s right, sold it to that fellow on Star . . . Eh . . . but I went over there and I told ’em . . .”

Okay, I don’t mean to be mean or anything, but old people take incredibly. Long. Pauses. They get it back eventually, a second before you start to wonder if they’d notice if you just walked away.

“There was probably a problem with . . . you know . . .”

I don’t know. I really don’t. I touch my pocket to make sure I have my phone. Wouldn’t this be the perfect time for my mother to call me? I’d have to take it—no one would think that was rude. My long-lost mother coming back to fetch me. Of course I’d have to take the call.

“. . . oh, you know.”

Jesus, Earl, no. I don’t know.

God, I’m hungry. What time is it? I could pull out my phone and look at the time, but I might as well say, Sir, you are so boring that I have completely given up trying to follow your demented ramblings, and he’d mutter something to Rose and she’d start to lose patience with me and that’s my only friend down the drain. I raise my eyebrows, face-language for Oh, that’s so interesting . . .

“Methane pockets!” Which he says like he’s talking about something really awesome but actually he’s just stoked to have been able to come up with the word.

“Of course, city hall was looking at near on fifty years of nil revenue from the landfill on the island. Might as well sell it to the Japanese, that’s what some folks said. Whole damn island . . .”

Then I’m thinking about sex with Jason, the way guys move when they’re having sex with you. Do guys keep their legs together when they have sex to protect their secret vaginas? No, of course they don’t. If dudes had vaginas, word would have gotten out a long time ago. They’d have, like, a documentary about it or something. Somebody told me that ducks have lots of vaginas. But that couldn’t be right, could it? God, what a weird train of thought.

“. . . so for near enough a decade the, ah . . .”

I am so fucking hungry. I could finish that pie when I get back to the house. No, wait, I gave it to Rose yesterday because Nick has the manners of a fascist and can’t even take a polite bribe. Shit.

“. . . Duck Island was one giant landfill. And all the way out here . . . ah . . . the . . . ah . . . regulatory framework is, you know . . .”

“Yeah. Totally.”