It hadn’t moved.

The girls were still in there.

One was in her underwear, tryna pull on a dress that was snagged on her heel. The other, seeing me, tried to human-shield her from my sight.

“What in the actual—” I started to say, before the human-shield girl, giggling up a storm, jabbed at the door-close button.

The door closed.

“Just a sec!” I heard her yell. Like this was a goddamn bathroom I was waiting for.

After more rustling and laughing from inside, one asked the other if they should let me in, the other agreed, and they yelled You can come in now!

I hit the button and entered.

Two Augusts ago, same shit:

V and I were up in Humboldt doing freelance weed work, and the first break we got after a big payout, about a month in, he was tryna throw down five hundo-plus on a music festival and drugs. I was like I’m not tryna do that, I’m tryna save, I’m done with that life, he was like Whatever bro and copped the ticket anyway. But he was living with me. In my van. Shit blew up the next day, at a campground north of Arcata. I told him What are you gonna do about getting there. You’re totally relying on me. You’re pulling audibles that aren’t in sync with the gang. You’re wilding.

He was like What do you mean how am I gonna get there?

I mean all your shit’s in my van. I’m your ride rn.

He was like How you mean? I got legs.

I was like Oh so you gon’ walk outta here?

I’ll walk outta here. I’ll walk outta here tomorrow morning.

OK bro. We’ll see about that.

The next morning, he packed it up and hit it.

This like a 30-minute drive north of Arcata. Directly off the 101. On the ocean.

This fool actually walked his ass to Arcata, crashed out in the woods by Humboldt State there. Then caught a rideshare down to Santa Cruz.

I went north, to an isolated campground on the border of Oregon, and read Don Quixote (1620) for a fortnight.

Right before the festival weekend, before we had to go back in for the next work stint, I caved. Copped a ticket and hit him up, breaking the silence.

We linked up and were good again.

The one girl had changed into a different-colored dress.

Musta spilled something on the first.

Half expected them to re-invite me to whatever party they were hitting.

But, once dressed, they were calmer.

Asked me some questions about Postmates.

“So you’re saying I can order McDonald’s and have a dude on a bike bring it to me?!”

“Bro pretty much,” I said, grinning.

•

The intersection out front was where Broad hit Ridge hit Fairmount, plus a couple side alleys there.

Lil isosceles island in the middle.