He got home at five in the morning. Birds chirped, dark sky broke. She put on a pot of coffee. Grass wet from dew.

She asked him where he’d been all night? Said she waited up for him. He told her he was thinking. Smelled like a distillery. Thinking and drinking, she said. Thinking and drinking.

A metal chair was pulled out from under the table. He took a seat. His wife placed a cup in front of him and poured out a jet-black liquid. A couple of scoops of sugar were added. The young man lit a cigarette and leaned back in his chair. The heels of his boots dug into the linoleum. He tried to talk but wasn’t making any sense. Said he loved her. And, he didn’t know why he did the things he done. She reached for his hand.

You wanna talk about it? she asked. I can handle anything.

I don’t know, he told her. That’s asking a lot.

For me or for you, she smiled. He let go of her hand. Took in a cloud of smoke. Blew rings out into the air. They traveled to the ceiling and then disappeared. Look at me, she grabbed his hand again. Where have you been?

Can’t tell you. Tell you then you’re involved. You don’t want that, he stood up, wobbling, took a sip of coffee. I’m going to miss that, he pointed at the cup. They give you brown water where I’m heading, she looked at him.

Where’s that?

Huh?

I said, where’s that? they both smiled.

I gotta get going.

Stay here and sleep it off, she said.

They’ll be here soon.

There was a knock on the door.