“I just let him out the front door. He toddled across the street and promptly sprayed our neighbor’s dog.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah, my mom was like, ‘See, that stink would have been all up in this house.’ But I didn’t care. Skunky was a true friend. He wouldn’t have sprayed me.”

“Amazing. Why aren’t you, like, a zoologist or something?”

“Tex, if there’s anything I love more than playing Russian roulette with your standard case of rabies it’s storytelling.”

“Yeah?” Sam didn’t mean for his voice to have that odd lilt to it, but he felt like Amanda had just let him in on some real personal shit.

“Did you ever watch Primal Zero?”

“A bit. My dad was on that show.”

“Oh my God! That’s right. He was Zork.”

“Yep.”

“I forgot ’cause—”

“All the makeup.”

“Wow. Your family. Anyway. My dad and I used to watch Primal Zero all the time and I used to write pages and pages of fanfiction. I finally told my dad about it and he bought me my first computer so I could write and be more organized. He encouraged me to move out here to become a screenwriter.”

“And now you’re writing on a show. The man knew he was making a wise investment.”

Amanda just nodded and let out a sad sigh, as she started picking at the label on her beer.

Sam reached across the table and stoked her hand. She let him, turning her fingers so he could trace the inside of her palm. Her hands were so soft. “If it’s not working for you, Cha-Cha, why don’t you move on to something else?”

“Because there is nothing else at the moment. It was hard enough to get this job. And not all of us have a backup ranch,” she said with a wink.

“Fair. That is fair. I’ll take that.”

“Oh, I know you will. I’m just messin’ with you. Look, I know this is part of the game. None of this is actually glamorous. At the end of the day it’s a job. Sometimes it’s fun and there are cool perks and if you’re lucky you get to be a part of something you love and are really proud of, but you know. You can think you’re onto something good and still feel unfulfilled.”

“If you could do anything, anything. What would it be?”

“Oh man. That’s tough. I don’t know. I just want to be happy.”

“And you’re not? Like, with your life.”

“No. No, I am. I think I just—I can’t really wrap my mind around what I really want. I try to picture it and it doesn’t seem possible. So all of those dreams and wishes get boiled down to a feeling. Whatever my actual meaning of life turns out to be, I just want to be happy.”