--in the midst of it all.Brian Grant sits forward, the old wooden chair creaking with the movement as he writes. It's part of his routine. Come home from work, take his meal, pen an entry in his journal
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Johnny makes his living reading people, more or less, seeing in their movements what they need to hear to do what he wants them to do-anything from giving him a twenty in exchange for two fives, to writing him a check for five thousand dollars. He plays people, and he's good at it. But it doesn't take a player to see that that's not a real smile. That's just spooky.
He talks with his whole body, throwing himself completely into what he says, and once it starts flowing it look like he'd be hard to stop. Shrugging, he begins, "Ah, maybe I should, but you know how much a garage costs in this city? It's ridiculous. I'd rather walk than pay some son of a bitch through the nose for a space. Like Saul, he drove us to the bar tonight. You know what he pays? Un-flippin'-believable. And he was in no condition to drive anybody anywhere afterwords. If I got in a car with him, my girl'd kill me. I don't even touch the stuff myself, anymore. I got a kid on the way." He makes a face to convey his ambivalence towards his future offspring. "She doesn't like me going out with the guys much, but a guy's got to get away sometimes, you know?"
"Brian. Nice to meet you, Brian." He doesn't offer an occupation. While he could spout forth a list of false and unverifiable jobs he doesn't have, it's better to keep his options open.
His cigarette, nearly gone, he stubs out the end on the lamp-post, then checked his watch. "I got to get home," he says. "I'll see you around, though, huh?"
He talks with his whole body, throwing himself completely into what he says, and once it starts flowing it look like he'd be hard to stop. Shrugging, he begins, "Ah, maybe I should, but you know how much a garage costs in this city? It's ridiculous. I'd rather walk than pay some son of a bitch through the nose for a space. Like Saul, he drove us to the bar tonight. You know what he pays? Un-flippin'-believable. And he was in no condition to drive anybody anywhere afterwords. If I got in a car with him, my girl'd kill me. I don't even touch the stuff myself, anymore. I got a kid on the way." He makes a face to convey his ambivalence towards his future offspring. "She doesn't like me going out with the guys much, but a guy's got to get away sometimes, you know?"
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The smile disappears and the man's face falls back to a neutral arrangement.
"Of course. You mustn't let anyone control you."
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"Women can be very inflexible. They can run your life. I live alone these days. It's much easier.
"But you are happy, yes? You will have a child and things will become pleasantly complicated."
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Grant nods and studies Johnny intently.
"What was your name again? I don't think you said."
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"Brian Grant. I teach art at City High."
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His cigarette, nearly gone, he stubs out the end on the lamp-post, then checked his watch. "I got to get home," he says. "I'll see you around, though, huh?"
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