“Is the mail going to come between now and when we get back from the bar? Let’s go.”

It was raining. Fellis didn’t speak much on the way to Overtown. When we crossed the bridge—the river moving below—and left the reservation, Fellis pointed to Jim’s. He bought two packs of Camels and four tall Steel Reserves. I bought a pack of Marlboro Reds and a pint of Smirnoff. It felt good to buy something.

The door jingled shut behind us and rain hit my face. We crossed the street and kept on to the bar. Off in the woods, the river rushed by. But other than that rushing and Fellis’s heavy breathing he did when he was mad, the night was quiet and cold and rainy. The roads were black wet. Ahead, a streetlamp flickered orange above a red For Lease sign. I didn’t remember what used to be there.

Fellis pulled me by the sleeve off the road and into the woods for a drop-off. We went down to the riverbank, and Fellis set his plastic bag of tall boys against a tree. The river flowed strong, and the wind sprayed water on our faces.

We went back to the road and shared my pint between us, and when we walked by the red For Lease sign we took a left on Falls Road.

The bar was quiet. Two people stood outside, talking. Inside, the lights were dim like honey. Fellis took his jacket off and hung it over a chair, and I did the same. Four men wearing soaked jackets were playing pool—the green cloth torn in spots—and a couple sat at the bar.

I felt bad Fellis lost the money, so I bought him a drink.

“You’re welcome,” I said.

He sipped.

I was feeling hot—the alcohol set warm in my blood.

Pool balls cracked. The bartender called last round.

“Let’s kill these and get one more,” Fellis said.

We did, and I bought the next two again.

Pool balls cracked once more, a shot after the game, and the men leaned their sticks against the wall and zipped up their jackets. Two rows of overhead ceiling lights turned on, and the bar brightened like a bulb about ready to blow, and in the newly lit air I noticed that the wood table we sat at was filthy with straw wrappers and peanut shells and two used wet matches and blue gum that stuck to a pepper shaker.

I brought the cold glass to my lips and Fellis smacked me, spilling beer down my chin and shirt. I swore, and Fellis shushed me. He pointed at the four men walking to the door. One scratched at the back of his neck, and in seeing that I realized I was rubbing the back of mine. Next to him stood a fat man in a blue Ecko sweatshirt whose pants hung low, red boxers sticking out like a panting dog’s tongue. Behind him another man shook loose a smoke from his pack, and he handed one to the man behind him, the man I recognized.