(This is an old snippet of dialogue from a dusty folder and empty story I wrote years ago.)
* * *
"I'm a literary romantic," Brideaux answered.
"What does that mean? Like, you write romance novels? I like that. Especially with a sexy name like, Brideaux."
"It's Jimmy, and you've got it all wrong," he said, "It means I romanticize about being a literary type. Mostly I just drink like a dog, do a hell of a lot of drugs and fuck like a wild boar when I can get it up. It's an effort, if you're asking, and I'd rather not put either of us through the hoops tonight."
"Oh. Well, are you still going to buy me that drink? My friend says you're famous."
"I'll buy you that drink, sure, then you've gotta go. A lady friend of mine will be here shortly and if she sees me here with a pretty — what are you, nineteen? Twenty? Either way, it won't go over well and then you'll have to be the one fucking me tonight. And you don't want to be the one doing that."
"What makes you say that? I think you're kinda cute."
"I've got chlamydia, for starters," he said, lifting his glass to the air and shaking loose the ice from the last ounce, "Secondly, there's nothing to eat at my place and I hate going out for breakfast."
