Chapter 8

“I mean, it does kind of look like you slept in it,” Henry teases.

“Says the guy with gravy on his shirt.”

“Ouch.”

“So,” Zack says after their second round arrives, “if you weren’t going to Lisbon…?”

“Oh, you mean yesterday?”

Zack nods.

Henry shrugs. “I just sometimes hang out after work.” He doesn’t like the way that sounds and he abbreviates the gulp at his beer. “I mean, not like in the break room or anything,” he says. “Talking to the people I just worked with all day? I’m not quite that lame. I have a life.” He chuckles. “It’s just here at the airport. God, maybe I am that lame.” Now he gulps at his beer.

“I don’t know,” Zack says. “I mean, there’s always something going on, right?”

“Yeah,” Henry says. “It’s the same place every day, of course, but the players are always changing. Some days it’s crazy, some days it’s more like meditation.”

“Meditation?” Zack says.