Do Your Homework

So I'm at the west end, sitting on a barstool at Craig's. You know, the one with the boot on the awning, and this guy, this twig, juts over to me, right in my face, and he starts spouting words like he's got a problem. This guy wants the business and I'm not having it, right? So I says to the bartender, I ask him "Where's the back door?" and he points down the bar and I ask the twig to follow me so we can settle his little talk.

We're both in the alley and it's dripping wet. Reeks back there with all the soggy dumpsters, smells like ass, and it's cold. I see this twig and he's just shivering, and I ask him what his problem is. Tells me 'it's my time' and some other nonsense and then pulls out this small wooden cross from his pocket and holds it up to me like I'm gonna suddenly explode, like he knows how to banish a demon.

I laugh.

"You need to do your homework, twig." I say. He looks at me like I just told him Santa ain't real but he's still holding up that cross of his so I just reach out and snatch it and let him see what happens. Sure, it burns a little and I cringe but it ain't nothing worth crying over. His eyes do go a little wider when the cross starts melting into my hand. Guess it was some memento of his. Shame.

I take my pen out and ask his name. He tells me and I write it in my book and just like that the concrete splits and hands reach out and then he's not standing there anymore.

I go back into the bar and finish my drink.