This is the point, he said. What I’m telling you. Listen up, he offered a cigarette. I don’t tell stories. Lies. My tales are a whole new brand of truth. Bones are bare.

What are you talking about?

Stripping it all down to the very core. Get to the marrow. The bone, he said. What do we have if we don’t have truth? he asked. Honesty between human beings. People not scared, not afraid of confessing to this or that. These sins we commit. 

You’re on a roll tonight. He held up two fingers for the bartender to see. Cleared his throat. Tried not to make a face. 

You’re hiding something.

Yes.

Why?

Cause I’m scared.

Of what?

We’re all going to die someday. My father dead. Mom passed away. A boy on the news tonight died of a gunshot on the Southside. A woman in a hospital sacrificed her life for a child. We’re all going to die someday.

Yes. Yes, we are. Best to confess your sins.

I slept with your wife, he told him. Didn’t mean to. Just happened. You were out of town. That’s when it happened. 

More than once?

We used to sneak away to hotels over in Allen County. By the interstate. We’d have breakfast at Cracker Barrel.

Jesus. I always suspected. Never wanted to believe it.

And now I’m paying for it.

How?

An early death. Cough up blood. Taste it in my mouth.

Cancer?

Yeah.

You deserve it. They both laughed. She was always up to no good. And you took advantage of her nature.

Guilty as charged. He ordered two shots of cheap whiskey. Handed one to his friend. To Marilyn, he said. They clanked glasses and shot them back.

You know you’re going to hell.

I figured as much.