Road Beers

She filled small cups with beer and passed them out. We started leaving. I waited in the hall, pretended to check my phone. She was last, locked the door. Do you use these cups for anything else, I asked. No, just road beers. They're just the right size.

We walked, I was careful not to catch up. They held the elevator for us, thanks a lot. Everyone else was loud, I was quiet, I was nervous. I wouldn't have cared otherwise is the thing. When we got out she lagged, cue.

But I couldn't think of anything to say. We drank. It was a warm night, the beers were cold and refreshing. They knew what to do.

Where do you get them? What? The cups. The store. Oh.

We drank.

What do you again? I know you told me. Never say that, never admit brain malfunction. I'm a speech pathologist. Right, right, for a private school. No, at a couple public schools downtown. Oh, right, I remember now. She was clenching her little paper cup.

Rosie! Someone shouted, she ran up. I don't even drink that much.