Re: Deck chairs; sitting.
If you had told him you could put don't care in a bottle and put a label around its neck for drinking tomorrow, this guy would have said hit me up. It was a business opportunity, wasn't it? Don't care would sell big, along with some of the options that had been in circulation early on. Delight, he figured that one was in short supply. You could sell that somewhere big city and make a fortune. He wasn't an entrepreneur, this guy but he could imagine it out. He drew one soaked knee up to his soaked chest and looped an arm casually around it, just leaning, and the glow of his cigarette was somewhere close to his knee-cap.
"My childhood was light on dumpsters. And skinned knees. It was light on childhood," and he smiled, thoughtfully as if this was a joke instead of a punchline. Clown, instead of Pierrot. He didn't look sad, but he'd get around to it eventually. He had rummaged far enough into the black space in his head and this guy didn't feel like digging around further. It spoiled his riff, it harshed his buzz, he was soaking wet but that didn't matter.
"These nights are good for doing all the things you don't think you can when the sun's up. Jumping in because you feel like it, without thinking too hard." This wasn't introspection. It wasn't explanation because it went bigger than that. He wasn't a philosopher, he was looking around at all the people scattered in the grounds who were doing things because they were something else for a night.
He watched the cigarette ash dance on the surface of the water, all sizzle and then gone. Like Nobody, who was a lazy son-of-a-bitch in good threads, with good thighs for a night. He could have been something else in daytime, this guy didn't know.
"You got anything you want to do? You got anybody you want to do?" He leaned his smile into the question, it took all the curves like a fast car on the side of a road. It was interest.