Talen

“Thanks!” I smile and hold the mug up to him, but he turns away without another word. I take a sip of the bitter wine and try to maintain my smile as I take a seat in the back corner of the room. I’m not even sure what kind of wine I have, but it doesn’t matter. It’s only for show.

I examine the crowd while holding the mug to my mouth but not actually drinking. I’ve never been a fan of any kind of alcohol, and the wine is foul-tasting anyway. The plastic workers are of a similar ilk, mostly burly men with a handful of burly women as well. Lifting the plastic bales is hard work and not for the slight of build.

They all seem to enjoy the drinking if not the drink itself.

“Pour me another mug of that shit!”

“It’s a good thing I’m drunk, or I wouldn’t pay ya for this swill!”

“If I puke, it’s from the taste!”

In another corner, a merchant peddles weed and small clay pipes. Marijuana is one of the few plentiful crops and is less expensive than the wine. The distinct smell of the smoke wafts around the enclosed area, and I’m tempted to cover my mouth and nose to avoid a contact buzz, but doing so would draw attention to me, and I don’t need that.

A woman approaches the merchant and leans in close to place coins in his hand. He nods once and slips a small plastic bag from his pack to her hand. She glances warily at the bartender as she checks her purchase, but his attention is directed at another patron. Without a word, she slips out the door.

Though weed is plentiful and used by many, weed merchants often sell hallucinogenic mushrooms, which can still be found in the northeast and aren’t too expensive. Such things are illegal in the east where laws are still enforced, but most are still cautious about the sale and distribution of the psychoactive fungus. It doesn’t stop those in the east from using it, and I recall seeing the illegal fungus as well as peyote when I lived near the coast. Peyote is extremely rare and has to be imported at great expense. I’ve heard that in the days before the Great Eruption, large quantities of multiple drugs could be found throughout the area, but now only these three remain in common use.

I notice the man I’m looking for fairly quickly. The tavern isn’t a large establishment, and the few battery-powered lamps offer enough light to see people’s faces. His long moustache makes him stand out, and he’s louder than anyone else in the bar.

“If I pissed in a cup,” Moustache Man says, “and placed it on a table, no one would ever know the difference!”

“Shut your mouth, Mack!” the bartender yells back. “You can just piss off as far as anyone is concerned!”

Mack makes an obscene gesture toward the bartender and then laughs before sitting at a table with two other men. He slams his mug down, splashing wine on the floor, but he doesn’t seem to notice. He leans over to his companions as if to speak secretly, but he’s still loud enough to hear.

“I’ve had real wine,” he says. “Made from grapes and all. It was sweet stuff, but not as sweet as the pussy I had last night!”

Laughter follows his comment. I close my eyes for a moment, teeth clenched.

“Nothin’ like stickin’ your cock in a nice, wet hole.”

“A hole you haveta pay for!” More laughing.

“Fuck you, Curtis!” Mack slams his mug on the table again. “I didn’t pay her a fucking cent, she liked it so much!”

“Cut that shit out!” the bartender yells. “Yer gonna break my cups!”

Mack ignores him as he leans over the table and brags.

“That bitch loved every inch of me,” he says. “She squirmed a bit, but she was so slick, I knew how much she wanted it.”

“Took both inches, did she?” His companions let out loud, more boisterous laughter.

“You wanna do some comparisons, Joe? I’m happy to show ya just what I got!”

“I’ve seen your dick,” Joe replies. “I think you don’t know what a real one looks like!”

“You’re just jealous!” Mack takes another big swig. “I had me a grand time, and in the end, she was shaking so much, you woulda thought there was a quake! I rocked her world!”

I glare in Mack’s direction, wondering how such a caricature of a man could even exist, a dull, violent brute who belongs in a comic book rather than actual life. But hard times create hard men, and he may be a product of the difficult life of a plastic worker. I assume there is more to him, though I don’t think I will have the opportunity to learn anything else about what has brought him to this point. He’s far beyond deserving any mercy from me.

The men continue to jabber and drink. As time passes, they get louder and drunker. The bartender yells at them several more times, including a threat to cut them off if they don’t settle down.

Mack leans back unsteadily, and his head bobs around on his wobbly neck. His eyes glaze over for a moment before he takes another large gulp from his cup.

“In the east they have real wine,” Mack says, “not the shit they serve here.”

“You’ve never been east,” Joe says.