“That don’t stop you taking the truck when you want beer or smokes.”

“When’s the last time I drove this truck?”

“Last week,” Fellis said. The tires kicked dirt and dust and Fellis pulled onto the road. “I gave you twenty bucks and you drove to Overtown to get beer and crappy cigars. I didn’t want cigars. I wanted a pack of Camels. You wanted cigars so that’s what we smoked.”

“I asked if you wanted cigars and you said yes.”

“I thought you were going to get me smokes too!”

We were quiet for fifteen, twenty minutes. I watched the trees as we zipped by them. Fellis hit a pothole and the radio turned on. He turned it off. “Damn,” Fellis said. He laughed. “What milligram are those?”

I looked at the bottle. “Two.”

“I feel like fog,” he said.

On the highway, I didn’t have to kick the blower motor. The truck shook at eighty-five miles per hour and hot air barreled out of the vents. I was still cold.

Fellis rolled down his window.

“Put that up,” I said. “I’m getting warm.”

“You got something wrong with you,” he said.

When we got off the highway in the little city, Fellis rolled up the window. Saturday traffic thickened the road. Blowout sales at Macy’s and JCPenney. Fellis drove by Burger King and McDonald’s and Wendy’s and then he turned on Myron Avenue, passing Home Depot and Walmart and this little Bible store that made its money from gelato. At the last set of lights before the methadone clinic, the light turned yellow and Fellis slowed and when it turned red he stopped the truck and rested his head back on the seat and closed his eyes.

We waited. Cars zoomed in the intersection. Turned. Sped. I coughed. A car honked.

“It’s green,” I said.

Nothing.

I backhanded Fellis. “Wake up, it’s green.”

Fellis drove straight, turned into the clinic, and parked across two spots.

Inside, the line wasn’t long. Fellis was in front of me. Tabitha—an asshole everyone at the clinic knew who threw up her liquid methadone and sold it—stood in front of Fellis, her arms crossed, a lockbox in her hand. She bounced on her feet, and then she turned and faced us. She always pretended she didn’t know me, like we weren’t something at one time.

“Can you back up?” she asked.

“Why?” I said. “You have to fart?”

Fellis backed up even though he wasn’t close to her. Tabitha looked past him at me. “My boyfriend’s out in the car,” she whispered.

The line moved.

“You’re holding us up,” I said.

“Fuck you, Dee.” She faced forward and stepped closer to the counter. “You’re nothing.”

“I wasn’t nothing in the past, was I?”

“Okay, minuteman.” She said that loud and Fellis laughed.