Walking to the Light

"Hey."
"Hey."
"You get good tips tonight?"
"Lousy."
"That sucks."
"I only had three customers."
"Probably 'cause of the storm."
"Sometimes you get a storm rush."
"Really?"
"Yeah, sometimes.  People go out for one last, you know, before they're trapped in their house for three days."
"Yeah, that's true."
"How was the bar tonight?"
"Packed."
"See?"
"It's always packed.  Drunks need to drink.  If we opened up tomorrow in the middle of the blizzard, they'd shovel their way in through the window."
"So you did good?"
"Yeah, we did all right."
"I should have stopped at the store."
"What do you need?"
"Soup."
"You like soup?"
"No, I hate soup.  But it's a blizzard.  You buy soup during a blizzard.  Soup and bottled water."
"So you're not going to eat the soup?"
"No, I'll eat it.  Once it starts snowing I'll be in the mood for it."
"I don't get it."
"It's what snow does to you.  Makes you feel like eating soup and watching four movies in a row, like it's normal behavior."
"I have soup at my place."
"I'm not going all the way over to your place just to get soup."
"Why don't you just stay there?"
"Because it's going to snow.  I'd get trapped."
"Or you could just stay."
"But..."
"I mean, you know, unless it's a trap."
"I meant--"
"If you'd feel trapped there."
"That's not what I meant."
"I just thought, you know, why be alone, right?  There's going to be a blizzard.  We're both going to be in our apartments, for, you know, three days or whatever.  Why not--keep each other company?"
"Where would I--?"
"I have another bedroom.  For when my daughter comes to visit.  I can stay in there, you can take my bed."
"I..."
"I'd just like the company, you know?  Wouldn't you?"
"Yeah, I would.  But I have a phone.  I can call people if I get lonely.  I can call you."
"It's not the same."
"No, but--"
"You know, never mind.  I'm sorry.  It's crazy of me."
"It's not--"
"To just, like, invite you over for a few days.  That's nuts.  I'm sorry."
"It's not nuts.  It's okay.  But I mean, we walk to the light together after work every night, and then I go down my street and you go down your street, and that's it.  We don't know that much about each other except that we both hate our jobs.  Now you want to spend three days together.  We've never spent more than five minutes together, if that."
"The way I see it is, we've got a fifty-fifty chance of having a good time."
"See I see it like this:  We have a thirty percent chance of having a good time, a thirty percent chance of having a weird time, and a thirty percent chance of having an awful time."
"And what's the other ten percent?"
"I don't know.  Unknown."
"So let's do it for that then.  For the unknown."
"Look--"
"I'm not a serial killer or anything.  You can tell because serial killers are usually handsome."
"Haha, stop."
"If it ends up being an awful time, I'll shovel you back to your apartment myself.  Or I'll have one of the Drunks come by and do it.  I'll promise them free drinks if they can make a tunnel between your place and mine."
"You really want to do this, huh?"
"Yeah, I really do."

. . . . .

"Let me run home and get a chance of clothes.  My toothbrush, and stuff."
"Okay."
"And you got soup?"
"I got soup."
"You sure?"
"I'm sure."
"What kind?"
"Uh, like, chicken noodle?  Tomato, I think?"
"Okay.  That'll work.  And you got spoons?"
"Yes!  I have spoons.  What do you think I am?  A degenerate?"
"Want me to meet you back at your place?"
"Tell you what:  Why don't I just walk with you?"
"To my place then back to yours?  That's--"
"You gotta do it, don't you?"
"Yeah, but--"
"So I'll do it too.  I'll walk with you.  That all right?"
"Yeah.  Yeah, that's all right."
"Besides, it'll give us a chance to talk some more."