Friday night rolled around. Rodriguez was speaking on the phone, still not missing a beat with his push-ups. Up and down. Up and down. Up and down.

  –199. ?Sí, sí, es cierto! 200. 201. Lo siento, querida, un minuto. What is it, white bread? You're gawking!

  Mark stopped biting his nails. There was almost nothing left of them since the captain moved in.

  –Don't call me that! And I ain't gawking.

  –Yes, you are! Sí… Está bien, mi corazón…202. 203. Sí, te prometo… Te amo. Sí te amo!! Adiós. 204, 205.

  Sunny rolled over on his back, wiping his forehead with a sock, muscles on his chest heaving after the workout.

  –Joder. Lana’s always worried about me.

  –Why?

  –She’s scared I’ll go MIA again and not be there for the birth of our bebé.

  –Again?

  –Yeah. I went AWOL. I didn’t know what to do. She’s half my age! But I came back four days later. He sighed. –I already have a son, but my wife Rosa died in childbirth with our second. Baby died too. It’s been hard for me, entiendes?

  –Damn! I'm sorry, Rodriguez.

  –Yeah, I couldn’t do anything, ese. Promised myself I’d be there if I ever had another chance. I’m a man, I can’t run from my responsibilities. My boy Paco’s with my mother in Guadalajara. He couldn't have a better life! Best tacos in the world, jajaja.

  Sunny got up, his grin returning. –But now it’s you and me, chico! Remember, cabrón? FRIDAY! Tequila and Cheetos!

  He took two bottles and a couple of plastic cups from his duffel bag. –Tonight, we party, and we’re getting wasted, ese. Cheetos and tequila!

  The boom box roared to life as he took the first shot.

  –Aye, puta madre! I love this song! You like Bob Marley? This is my favorite: Is this love, is this love, is this love, jajaja!

  He handed Mark a cup filled to the brim and started dancing around the room.

  This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

  –Here’s to new beginnings, Pepe! Salud! Just down it!

  Mark downed the shot.

  –Dang, I hate tequila.

  –HAHAH! Weakling! Come here. Let's sit down and talk like men.

  They sat down on their bunks. Sunny dipped his finger in the plastic mug and flattened his cowlick.

  –How old are you, Pepe? Twenty?

  –No, I’m eighteen.

  –Mierda, eighteen?! Too young to be here! Well, I’m old, man. You saw the ID.

  –Thirty-seven ain’t that old?

  –Tell that to my knees, cabrón.

  –Well, you don’t look it.

  –Gracias a los genes. Hey, when I get back, I’ll start a Taco Truck, El Corazón. Why don’t you join me, ese? He placed a tanned hand on Mark’s thigh. –You could run the window, yeah? Smile at the customers, count the cash, keep me from burning the tortillas! I just need to figure things out first, you know? Money, place...

  Mark scratched at the back of his neck.

  –Yeah. Could we have some Cheetos while you’re figuring?

  –Sure, I forgot!

  A bag of Flamin’ Hot Cheetos was placed on the table, along with more tequila.

  –Comer, cabrón! Now you play your harmonica, I wanna hear.

  Mark wiped his mouth of yellow crumbles.

  –I know one song, Shenandoah. Alright, I'll play.

  Soon, a little off-tune and sour, Shenandoah drifted through the air. Before the last note had faded, Sunny's eyes were glassy as if he was holding back tears.

  –?Eres un artista! What else did you do before you came here? Country music?

  –Nah, I rode broncs. And bulls.

  –You? A cowboy? You’re shitting me! Hahaha!

  –Hell, it’s true! I won prizes, I was dang good at it! I even had my own horse. Don't you believe me?

  –Sí, sí, I believe you.…hic. You’re bonito and funny, and I ain’t afraid to say it again… you have a fucking pretty face. You’re muy muy guapo, with your bambi eyes. Lo sé, lo sé, but an old guy can dream, right? Haha!

  –Dream? You’re drunk!

  –I’m drunk, not blind. Listen, I got a proposition for you.

  –Uh, okay? A pizza truck?

  Sunny leaned forward with a peculiar look on his face.

  –No trucks. Just you and me, ese. Sexo. No strings. Buena onda. Nobody has to know...

  Mark stared at him.

  –What?

  –You heard me. Please say yes! Sunny slipped off the bed, landing on his knees. –Cabrón, I don’t wanna get married! I don’t!! Ay, De Maria, what am I gonna do? Tears welled in his eyes. –I’m hard for you 24/7! I wanna make love to you - I wanna fuck your brains out!

  –Nah, nah, you–you don’t mean that!

  –Sí, I do! Like this!

  He shoved his tongue in. The kiss sent a jolt through Mark's chest, straight down to his groin. His whole body stiffened for a second. Then he smacked Sunny across the face.

  –STOP!!

  –Ow! Don’t… don’t you want me, Pepe?

  –No! You’re completely wasted!

  The blond hair stuck up like a cockatoo’s crest as Sunny swayed to his feet.

  –Okay, fuck, I’m loco. Lo siento, amigo. This was a mistake...

  –You could say that!

  –I’m a borracho cabrón. Forgive me. I'll sleep in the hallway, no?

  –Yeah! Or, well... Just... just no more tequila, alright?

  –Sí, jefe. No more tequila. Promise. I'll go to bed now. Good night, cowboy.

  Héctor Alejandro Rodríguez de la Huerta climbed into his bunk with the grace of a hammered gorilla. The next minute, snores that could wake the dead thundered through the room.

  Mark sat with his head in his hands. He squeezed his eyes shut, but nothing could stop the movie playing in his head, with him and Sunny in the starring roles.

  Sweet Jesus. What the hell was wrong with him?