See if the stocky guy wants to play pool

“Bum law,” you say, by way of introduction.

“Fucking sucks,” he agrees. He’s got the voice of a smoker, dry and rough, but up close he’s definitely got the build of – and tan – of a construction worker. You drink your beer quickly while you chat, seeing he’s getting antsy.

“You want a game?” you offer.

He shakes his head. “What I want is a smoke.” He sighs, then checks his watch in the dim light. “Maybe I’ll just go.”

You remember seeing the red exit sign at the end of the hallway by the bathrooms. Maybe you could just step outside with the guy for a smoke. Or you could head out front to the parking lot, but that wouldn’t be as private. Or maybe you should leave him to his cancer sticks.