“Over there, the Saab convertible,” he points, using his hand to lead their eyes across the lot. “Can you believe it? Got it out of the showroom—not ten miles on the thing—two weeks ago, and now this.”

“Shit, yeah, I believe it,” the taller one says, laughing again for no apparent reason. “You buy foreign, you pay the price.”

“Yep. Sticker price!” says the milk-mustachioed one and they both crack up again. Even in his delicate state the man can recognize an attempt at a joke when he hears one, so he plays along and bows his head, nodding and laughing as well. Slaps at his knee, even.

“I know, I know! Guilty as charged,” he says, holding his hands up in a gesture of mock surrender.

“Damn Swedes!” one of them barks. Laughter again.

“Yep. Last time I do that, I swear. They gave me a hell of a deal, though. Fully loaded, even threw a stereo in for free and I couldn’t resist.”

“Bullshit it was free … lookit you now!”

“Exactly! I should’ve known better, right? Nothing, and I mean nothing, comes free in this world,” the man offers, hoping this will be the fraternal nugget that gets these guys to offer some assistance.

“You got that right!” says one of them, but the man misses which one it is because he is glancing over at the door to the establishment as it swings open again. An older couple—man and woman, could be husband and wife or not—slip outside and off toward a Ford. Wearing matching jackets with a kind of fringe on the sleeves. He decides to let them go and turns back to the two men in front of him.

“So, you think you can help me out?” he says. “Could probably give you each a little something for your time.”

“Don’t need your money,” says the bigger guy, who yawns as he says it. Matter-of-factly. “It’s your battery, right?”

“Yeah. I think …”

“Then you’re flat outta luck. I don’t got my cables, never carry ’em in the summer.”

“Damn.”

“Yep. That’s fucked up, leaving your lights on.”

“I know. I wasn’t thinking, that’s all.”

“You musta got here early, huh?” the shorter one giggles, jabbing his buddy hard in the ribs. The other one gets it—after all, it was meant to be funny—and they’re off to the races again, howling at the moon. A high five is even offered up at some point.

“Yeah, or in a big hurry!” chortles the other one. “Real big!”

“No, I guess I just didn’t notice that they were …”

“Still, you pay that kinda money for a car—what’d she run you, maybe forty thou?—you’d think the damn thing could bark at you or something as you’re walking away. One of those bells they got for everything else you do wrong or forget to do.”