You emerged into the sticky-hot evening to find Ricky smoking in the hood of his battered car. Something about his mud-encrusted boots and the way he let the smoke curl from his mils and how the sinking sun lit his green hair reminded you of a punk, redneck James Dean.

"One buck a swing- oh, Portman, it's you." he threw his golf club somewhere to the side before kicking the Crown Vic's passenger door.

"Get in, Special Ed."

You and Rick have been friends for a while. He was your best friend—which was only a way to make it less humiliating that he was your only friend—but after some time, you realized.. were you still friends.. or more?