Stick

“You could quit.”

“I could. I should.”

“So why don’t you? Sorry, it’s probably none of my business.”

“You really want me to get into it?”

“You still have another forty minutes.”

He coughed on something. Pride. He found his pants and rifled through the pockets looking for matches. She pulled a gold-plated lighter from the bedside table drawer.

“This is what I wanted. This is a good job. My dream, realized. I worked so hard to get to this position. And it will get better, probably.”

“You wanna know why you won’t do it?”

“Sure.”

“Because you’re a coward.”

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