A Thermos Between Us
“Imagine this”, said Bruce, “you get a camera and then you go out and tape like a bunch of cool people hanging out like at a party or a club or bar or something and sell it to shut-ins.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“Dude, come on, just bear with me here,” he said, looking down and fidgeting with a battered pack of cigarettes on the table right in front of him.
Bruce was talking so fast I could barely follow, a hint of foam starting to appear around the corners of his mouth.
“We could help somebody who never goes out but wants a night out anyway. They could play the video and have a beer and pretend they have a social life and shit. Some hot chicks could wave to him on the screen, it’d be a blast. Like a shut-in nightclub.”
He stopped for a moment and opened the thermos, inhaling the deeply fragrant cloud of steam. The foam was full-blown spittle now. He gently closed the termos and looked up at me, smiling and stroking the half-empty beer bottle in front of me.
“I would love some coffee right now. Or a beer. Or even a cigarette.”
Bruce was off coffee, off beer, off cigarettes, off everything. He sighed and stared at the table for an instant then stood suddenly, grabbing my beer along with his thermos and pack of cigarettes and, dropping everything in a trash can near our table, held out his hand.
“My plane is leaving now. They’ve called me at least four times already but I enjoy the dirty looks on the other passengers’ faces too much.”
I shook his hand and watched him leave towards his gate. After a few minutes, I stood and headed towards my gate slowly and hesitantly like a shut-in at a nightclub.
