Inside Straight

“Sure,” Jonathan said. “They just don’t involve getting anointed by God.”

“What then?” Lohengrin demanded. “What is your dream?”

“I want to be a journalist,” Jonathan said.

“And what is it a journalist would do?”

The waitress reappeared with two cups of coffee. She balanced them on the remains of the table, nodded, and walked away again. Jonathan looked at the black surface, neon bar lights and the flickering blue television screens reflecting in it. What would a journalist do?

“Ah, fuck you,” he sighed. “Fine. We’ll go.”

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