Boring. Boring. Boring. Jackhammer beat. Sepia light and dripping bodies close everywhere on the black linoleum. He's pressing against her, she's pressing against him and she feels his feeling grow, but her mouth is getting dry, her temples are stinging bad and the bass and drums are kicking her stomach too hard.

She stands on her toes, hugs him and yells up into his ear, "Do you want to go outside! I need to smoke!"

He looks back and her with drifting brown eyes. His pores are large and ooze. He says, "Ok. Yeah!"

His hand is on the bared small of her back. He stares at her coffee skin. She pierces the crowd, guides him around the stainless steel column at the center of the floor.

The cold midnight air makes their sweat sizzle. The walkway is coated in green light and flanked by tables and chairs caged by knee-high wrought-iron. There's characters everywhere. Near the entrance, a short Asian with high hair and a white muscle shirt crosses thick arms like bull-thighs over his chest and leans against a piece of gate, fingers the side of his nose compulsively while he talks from the side of his mouth to a redhead in gray tweed short-shorts and a black tank top that ends at the hem of her ribcage. A pink dragon wraps around the complete circumference of her skinny, porcelain waist and it's wide-open mouth seen in profile threatens to swallow her belly-button and then the entire universe.

----

"You're a little different." She says as the flame clicks on.

"Yeah?" He moves forward in his seat.

"You're not wearing some skin-tight hecka decka nor-cal t-shirt with skulls and shit, for one." She smokes.

"Well, you know -- beyond the redwood curtain we don't take kindly to stupid bullshit. I'm not into UFC either. I'm sure you're turned on already."

She removes the cigarette, licks her thin maroon lips. She says, "Yeah, MMA is like: two closet homosexuals kicking the shit out of one another because they are so upset about their latent urges."

He laughs. She growls, "AFFLICTION!"

He looks her in the eye for the first time that night and says, "Be my bride, please."

"Well, we'll see." She grins, takes another draw and there's some silence.

"So you work with me, right?" He asks.

"Yeah, I'm in tax. I've seen you around. The claims guys scheduled me in Outlook."

"Yeah, me too. They always take me out. I think I'm an honorary Filipino or something. It's nice of them to let me Tagalog."

She shows her sharp, bright teeth again. She brings her cigarette near her mouth but doesn't smoke, "Can you believe 2008 is almost half over?"

"Not really. I can't believe I'm twenty-four."

"Yeah. I thought the whole world would be a lot different, when I was a kid." She looks down while she ashes her cigarette.

"What, you mean flying cars? Hacking the planet Zero Cool style with tricked-out Pentium II's pushing extreme gigaflops?"

She laughs with her mouth. She answers, "Nah. Just different. My brother deployed yesterday."

"Oh?" He sucks his bottom lip into his mouth.

"Yeah. It's bullshit."

"Why? I mean, why'd he join?"

"He's 18. He's 18, he's pissed off at everything and his girlfriend broke up with him and he's a fucking moron."

"Yeah! He's a massive moron."

"Well, god, thanks."

"Did you tell him that? Did you tell him he's an idiot?"

"What-"

His stubby, pink hands whip back and forth like scavenging dogs and his voice speeds and expands , "I mean, he's going to kill people to show some chick just how bad she hurt his feelings. God. God. That's not romantic at all."

"I told him I didn't want him going, but what's done is done and I'm not going to let him feel like I don't support him."

"Well god, you don't support him. Tell him that. Maybe he'll go AWOL. You love him. Do your fucking job."

Her eyes gloss up and she speaks quietly. "You're an asshole."

"I guess."

She beats her cigarette out on the black aluminum table and sighs. He continues before she can.

"Yeah, sorry, you know. I don't support the troops. Fuck the troops. I fucking hate the troops. I don't long for their death or anything but I think they're bastards. All of them. Who the fuck signs up to kill people? I hate that kind of person. They're the problem to begin with. Fuck this shit. I'm gone."

He tries to stand but the table traps him at the thighs. He kicks to push his chair out and the jagged sound echoes.

"You know. Just: dulce decorum blah blah blah," he says, then walks away.

She sits there looking forward and mouths, "What the fuck?"