At the Robin’s Nest they had a locals’ pool tournament taking place in the back corner. He noticed that two out of three playing sported mullets. Charlie arrived shortly after. Charlie had a white mullet, and a crazy eye, always twitching off to one side. "So what’s your name" Charlie said, spitting the words in his face. "William," he answered. "—well Henry, Henry’s a good name, that’s a man’s name. Mine, mine’s Charlie," Charlie said squatting down now, popping up like a clown, before ordering a beer for the hefty woman across the bar. "Now that’s a fine looking one," Charlie’s eye traced her gold pants, "hot damn!" Charlie paused, " — now wait so, Henry, what do you do — no, don’t tell me, let me guess," he said. Charlie was clearly high on methamphetamines; it was his overconfidence and forward gait that gave him away. He put his hands to his head, squeezing his forehead, as if that might force the information out, "Henry, now Henry, you look like a fire fighter. A fire fighter, now that’s a man’s job. Henry, you know there aren’t many men left out there these days. You and me, both know it. And you," Charlie said, finally glancing at me, "you must do retail."  I nodded. I had done it a couple years back.

Read this story in its entirety