The T-72

“What kind of rig does he have? I need a guy with a small rig.”

“I don’t know. I could ask him about it.”

“So, you could broker this and get him on hold for me?”

“Yeah. I can do that.”

“Just tell him that I’m asking other people, but if he wants, I can put him on my list.”

“Yeah I can do that.”

“Alright. Where does he live?”

“I think with his dad.”

“Does he smoke weed?”

“Yeah.”

“Does he have a car?”

“I think he has a van.”

...

“So small rig.... Like, describe the right setup.”

“Like my ideal rig? Um, A traynor head and a four ten cab.”

I wrote it down. “So how do you like your new neighbourhood?”

“Um, I found the indie record shop.”

“Is there a Junction local?”

“Yeah. We should go sometime. That girl that was in your band, Betts, she used to work there and maybe still does.”

“Oh yeah? That’d be good. When I get healthy enough to drink.”

“Uh huh. Hey there’s a beer in your fridge. Can I drink it?”

“Oh, you might not want to. I froze it by accident last weekend.”

“So?”

“I thought it was bad to drink a beer after it’s been frozen.”

“Not canned beer.”

“I hadn’t heard that.”

He took a big gulp and smacked his lips and smiled, a little beer squirted out. “Mmmm, delicious beer.”

“Freak.”

...

...

‘I was thinking about how you’re down on yourself for being short. I found out something that might make you feel better.”

I stared at him.

“Did you know that the Soviets designed their T-72 specifically for soliders under 5'6"?” He bobbed his head up and down, smiling, drinking the thawed beer. “It’s one of the greatest tanks of all time.”