“What’s that?” A man whose hard hat rests on his dusty, canvas bag points a small yellow metal box in the shape of a dog bone.
“A phone.” The man cracks open a Budweiser and takes a swig.
“It looks like a dog biscuit.”
“It’s actually my lunch box, but it makes a good weed box. I show up to meet my probation officer smellin’ like beer and weed, and I don’t give a shit.”
“I hope there’s somethin’ good smellin’ when I get home, on the stove, I mean.”
“Did you clean your feet?” The man with the dog bisquit lunch box says.
“You get that, too?” They laugh.
“I think relationships are hard no matter how experienced you are. She puts her teeth back in, in the morning, you give her a good long kiss and shove it in her.” The man with the phone says.
“Love us, bro,” the man says as he disembarks.