It was dark like it always was when Dave left. The air was crisp, but not freezing like he had expected. It was just cold. The road was wide and empty, just how he liked it, free of stress, free of competing, and prime for driving. Streetlights glowed in the city, the jewels beset in modernity’s crown guiding wayward souls to somewhere and nowhere. Jess said goodbye while walking out to her car. Dave stood just outside the store with the person who’d managed his shifts for the past year.

“Want a smoke?” asked Dave.

“What?”

“Do you want a cigarette?”

“You’re not a smoker,” said Riley, pulling out her own pack and a lighter.

“No, I’m not, but I had this crazy idea that it might help me connect with people if I was a smoker. So, I picked up a pack at the gas station today.”

“That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Dave lit his cigarette and drew in a short, filthy puff. “Yeah, I’m not inclined to disagree with you,” he said trying not cough, looking at the orange glow through the cancerous smoke. There was a quiet moment. “I also bought them for homeless people.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. I remember you telling me once how much it sucks not being able to buy cigarettes as a smoker and that cigarettes can be worth more than money if you’re homeless.”

“Sounds like something I’d say.”

“Saturday is Christmas Eve,” said Dave. “You workin’?”

“Yeah, I work both Christmas and Christmas Eve,” said Riley before she lit the cigarette and took a draw. “I’m using vacation time on the rest of the month. Gotta get rid of it before I leave.”

They sat down on top of the picnic tables. Dave took his time looking for what he wanted to say. His head was filled with the fog of the day. Another nasty puff of smoke rolled out of his mouth, adding to the haze of the world before him.

“It’s gonna be your last Christmas here, isn’t it?”

“Sure is. I found a better job; it pays twice as much.”

“Good for you.”

“I’ll be able to fix the heat in my car. I’ll be able to afford to go to the doctor when I need to. I’ll be able to save for emergencies. I’ll be able to pay off my loans. Heck, I’ll be able to take a day off without worrying about getting the electric shut off.”

“Heck yeah, startin’ the new year with a new job. I like it.”

“Yeah, let’s just hope it’s all I’m crackin’ it up to be. I haven’t reached the promised land yet.”

“No, but you worked hard and you found something better, and now you’re going to continue making the life you want for yourself.”

“No.”

“What?”

“It sorta just fell into my lap. Also, I don’t hate this place. I don’t really want to leave. I’m good at my job, and I kind of like it.”

“Okay, but don’t discount the work you did to make it this far. That counts for something, right? You can make it in this world if you just work hard.”

“I guess.”

“What do you mean ‘you guess?”

“You don’t wanna talk to me about this, dude. We’re gonna just have to disagree.”

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

I don’t know how to be sincere about this. My friend just shared some good news, sad but good; all I can do is sit here and agendize it. Smoke rolled up around his face. He blew it away, watched roll in the air. He took a moment and admired how the restaurant glow from across the street fell through it. Sometimes, what you’re looking for isn’t past the smoke. Sometimes, it’s all tangled in it.

“I just wanted to say thanks,” said Dave.

“For what?”

“I’m a pretty crappy worker; I might even be a pretty crappy person, but I don’t think I’m completely worthless, but I always felt like maybe I was wrong about that when I came here. I suck at cleaning. I’m slow. You never seemed to think I was worthless; you knew I had some sort of value as a worker, heck, as a person.”

“Aww, buddy!” said Riley, drawing out each syllable.

“You’ve been a good supervisor. You were the only person to try and keep me from leaving. I did sales and failed miserably. You were the only person to support my coming back. It’s kinda like I’m your prodigal son, pops.”

“You know, you’ve changed since you started working here.”

“How so?” She was right to the length of Dave’s concern, but if the devil’s in the details, Dave wanted to see Old Scratch’s face. “I remember you hated my guts when I started. You thought I was an idiot.”

“Yeah, I don’t think you’re wrong about that. But, that’s not what I was talking about; you used to be grateful you had this job. You were grateful that you had an opportunity to pay for your wedding. You thought it was awesome you were getting paid a whole dollar above minimum wage.”

“Well, that’s back when I thought every entry level job made minimum wage. Then I learned this was on the low end of average.” Dave’s mind went off in its own direction. Saying that means the only thing that’s changed between now and then is what I know. I hate my life because I know more about it. I couldn’t see the flaws before I’d experienced them. I had to live it to find the bad; I must have to live to find the good.

“Right! You’re not grateful anymore; you’re bitter because you’ve learned what’s going on.”

“Well, I’m trying not to be bitter, but every time I take a step in that direction it feels like I get shat on.”

“You’re going to keep getting shat on. You’re at the bottom. Shit doesn’t have wings, Dave.”

“Yeah. You’re not wrong. But, ‘what does that even matter?’ I always think to myself; in the grand scheme of things, I’ll be dead, and none of my suffering will remain.”

“The suffering of others will.”

“Then they’ll die eventually, and their suffering will end. Same with joy and ambivalence.”

“I thought you believed in God.”

“I think I do. I think I believe as much as I can, and that means I don’t worry about things beyond my control. Anything after death is up to Him; the reality of life beyond life is one of those things. It’s what I can and am supposed to do with the life before me that I’m concerned with, and I just don’t know.”

“You just have to try to be happy. Try to make that happen. Try to make that last.”

“What the hell good is happy?”

“I don’t know. Do you like being miserable?”

“...Sometimes, I really think I do. It always feels like I’m lying about the world when I’m happy. Happiness is just something I ingest to endure the reality: everything kinda sucks.” He snuffed his half-done cigarette on the ground and tossed it in the trash. “I hate these things.”

“I can’t believe you bought those as conversation starters. I mean, you’re married; who do you need to talk to so badly?”

“People who aren’t doing so well, I guess.”

“That’s it?”

“Well, I also just couldn’t get the image of smoke out of my head. Maybe that’s my body just trying to poison itself.”

“You really feel that way?”

“Being sad makes everything kind of strange. I live in a world filled with chemicals trying to retain their compounded states. I pour chemicals into a hole to maintain this compounded state. Sometimes, it seems appropriate to go against the grain and toss something down the hole that tears apart the compound’s pattern. I guess that’s what’s going on; what do I know? I’m just a buncha chemicals.”

“That’s all you are?”

“That’s all we are… but, I’m going to fight to the death not to believe it. I’m going to fight until my chemical patterns stop to believe there’s something more than just that.”

Dave looked down at his phone to catch the time. He’d missed three calls from Billy. There was a message, “Help! It’s Cliff. Come to 612 Madison St.”

“I’ve got to go!” said Dave.

“Well, good talking to you, my dude. Thanks for the smoke!”

“No problem!” he shouted as he ran to his car. He was already making a call.