Feeling the effects of the first two beers, I go inside for a third. I walk on air to the counter; the opener is in my possession, although that’s not really important since Gerardo, Shorty, and the students have moved on to gin and tonics. A mild hubbub—the students are suddenly speaking more loudly, interrupting one another—has eased the atmosphere, and I lean against the pool table. I’ve left the door ajar, and the cold air enters, stirring the smoke from the joints and cigarettes, making it rise to the ceiling and momentarily form small clumps of cloud. Shorty watches me; his disapproval has morphed into a repulsive desire that must be directed at the girl who is studying in Talavera, that Scarlet Johansson of La Mancha. It pains me that her cheerful, animal innocence should be confronted with Shorty’s lust. I scowl in disgust; he sees and passes a finger across his lips and blows me a quick, pathetic kiss. A sick, senseless gesture. Gerardo sees the gesture and pauses. Turning his back on his companion would mean losing a devotee, but he has passed the point where he can sit next to Shorty without becoming violent. Shorty is drunk enough not to notice the change in Gerardo’s mood. Gerardo, for his part, is ready to ditch him, although what he’s really hoping for is an argument with me. I stand up and grab four beers to see us through. Then I say to Shorty:

“Put them on our bill.”

He mutters some obscenity, points at me, and laughs. We leave the bar without saying goodnight.