Mr Grayson, there’s somebody on the line for you,
oh, and the window cleaner wouldn’t come today,
he said he got in a mess with his family




Let us get our coats off, lady!
Geez!


Thanks, Linda










You're too nice to her, Isaac.


you’re dull. dull as a rock


Shut it
Hello?


Mr Grayson?


Speaking.


It’s Deputy Inspector Jordan, from the D.A.’s office, uh
Sir


you new, Jordan?


Yes, sir


why're you calling this office, at this time of day, Jordan?


There’s a case for you, sir.
We don’t want the cops to handle it, too much noise and rough hands make dirty work


Sure you do


We got an Angel in custody, Sir,


An Angel, Gable? C'mon, man. We don't have time for this.


do you take me for a shyster, kid?


no, sir, but they’re asking for you by name, sir.


Oh man, Gabe.


Keep them there. We'll head out, but brief me tomorrow.


Yes, sir.


Gabe, c'mon.

Get your coat on, kid.

Gable, c'mon.

C’mon, get your coat.
What?
What is it?


It's turning eight.

The sun's still up.

The sun isn’t going anywhere.

This’ll be the case, kid, then we’ll go home.


Gable, listen.


He’s a young man by now. Short black cropped hair. His cologne is new.
His shave is close, but clean. When he looks at me, his forehead furrows.
He makes his way from the coat hook by the door to his side of the desk.
His desk is empty. There’s some files and an untouched bottle of liquor in the right hand drawer but beyond that, it’s empty.
Men like him do desperate things to preserve their untenable futures. Men like him care about that sort of thing.

Oh, c'mon, kid.



Gable, I need you to listen. You've done a lot for me, you've
I fall back into my chair. I’m using the voice I use to talk to families, next of kin. Sensible but stern. Look at me, kid.
I can be sensible. And stern, too.
I bear onto him the patience of the world.

Oh, no, I get it.

no, no, you don’t, gable, be honest with me here

no, i get it, it's fine

Your saying it’s fine doesn’t mean anything. Listen to me, hoss, you owe me that

we don’t gotta talk about this.
you know what you want, and i’m not going to be one to get in the way of that


Gable, c’mon

The young, impetuous man lifts his hands up and paces away.
He comes back to our desk.
He puts his hands down and looks across at me with impatient eyes.

you’re a real piece of work, you know that, hoss?
you’ve spent the last three years of our lives brooding, waiting for some big revelation to come just so you can sit down with a fat pension, you
He struggles to find the word.

You old fart. You old fucking man.
He's fighting to find the words.

You’re just so much, and you wanna sit here and play this game of ‘it’s fine, i don’t care,’ you do care, this is tearing you apart, you’re just so much, and i can’t bear another day stuck with you, i
Isaac, I think you should sit down. Take a moment.



You need to calm yourself, kid.






I’m grateful for what you've done for me, but i haveta draw a line. I haveta, somewhere.
I have people now.
Oh, you got a poker night, good for you!
I sit in the silence. This impenetrable silence.
It’s not going anywhere.
Neither are we.

Neither am I, I suppose. Little shit.





Gable, listen.


What?


Sharper than I intended.
I’m sorry, bub. For doing this to you. I really am.


he stands at the far end of the office now. We’re the only two guys left in the building. We’ve left ourselves here.
I’m turning to look out the window. I don’t want to look anywhere else. I don’t want to look at him. He has no need to apologise. I’m tired. I don’t wanna hear it. This is just him acting out.
He’ll come back tomorrow. We’ll be fine.

i don't understand and its not fair
It's alright, I get it.


Do you?


Yeah, sure.


You hardly look like you get it

You don't look like you know how to leave.


I’m giving you that time you asked for, Gable


You’ve given me a lot of things, Isaac.


The boy takes a smoke from his pocket. He comes back over as I raise my light. My flame is meeting his cigarette.
He takes the last drag out of me. He takes a while to stand back up.
He doesn’t look at my eyes, but continues to look somewhere else. We agreed not to smoke near the files, though that doesn’t mean much now.

His face looks calm, washed over. We’re always thinking about our periphery, the things slightly out of our vision. Now Isaac Lumbard stands in front of me, looking away from me, drawing it in. He knew this was going to happen. I’m already in his past.
What part of me was his, he’s left on the desk.




Get yourself your own, kid.


See ya, Gable.


He’s gone. Smoke settles, and wilts. The door closes and certainty stops new air from moving into the room.
I’m breathing slow. I return to the window. Isaac makes his way across the street and into his Chrysler. In one motion, he’s made his way out. I wanted him to look back, to look up, to see me in through the window, looking down, trying not to find him, trying not to see him.
He drives off. He’s fine. I sit, looking where his car was, looking at the office.
The light hangs over me, the light falling. I loosen the tie and unbutton my shirt.
It’s always so hot in here. I go to his desk and take the liquor. Sunset passes through the blinds. The secretary closes up downstairs. The cars outside return home, because they have somewhere to return to.
Alone, in the reaches of this office, I sit. I flick through the cases. I go through his desk. There’s nothing new. Nothing hidden.
He’s left all the prospects I offered him on the empty desk. I don’t know what to feel.


You’re brooding.


I'm allowed that luxury.


It’s not a luxury when you’re making misery outta us.


Real smart, real smart, coward kid.
Coward was the worst I could do.



Obviously, I drink. A thick, useless hole inside of me is fulfilled. The soil inside me has rotted. Some dirt. Some churning dirt machine. Some kid.

I remember the case. The angel, the D.A. Freshfaced Jordan with no ways of the world. I take my coat, knowing it’ll not get cold enough to need it.
The air is thick, damp, and in a place like this, foul enough to drown in. A place where evil thought grows. A place for community, but not for men like me. I
walk the streets and the streets do not come to meet me. I walk a few blocks and the blocks do not remember me. Foul eyed workers see me and make their way across the street. They know the sort of man I am. I walk away from the car, and deep into this vast ocean of concrete we called a city.
Somewhere, along my walk, it will end, or I will end. One of us will collapse, one of us will keep walking.