“Make sure you have the good shit on tap. We’re not paying for that piss you usually serve!” I’m fairly confident I recognize the voice without turning around, so I don’t bother. I wait for him to say something else, because if it’s that guy who Paige is seeing—Carson, I think?—I know he won’t be able to shut up. My suspicions are confirmed when, after a short-lived five seconds without having to hear his voice, he begins singing loudly with the country song finishing on the jukebox.

“Dude, get this shit off! You—isn’t it time for you to start playing the real music?” I turn around to see him snapping his fingers at Casey, who only glances up for a second, looks down at his watch, then returns to Carson’s attention shaking his head no. Casey comes from a large Italian family, and I’ve seen his dad work him into a corner, screaming at him and threatening to hit him. He never did, but Casey’s four older sisters would take over, smacking him until his skin was practically pink all over. Carson may be large, but the worst thing he could do is punch Casey and knock him out—and in Casey’s world, a nap isn’t so bad.

“What the fuck. You’re fired!” Carson’s moving closer, and as funny as it is to watch my small friend sit there, finishing his sandwich—as if the Neanderthal yelling at him were invisible—it’s also almost ten at night in the middle of the week. If I’m out right now, I need to be getting paid for it, which won’t happen if Casey gets fired from this job.

“Hey, chill out. He gets time for dinner. That’s sort of a law, and we’re not technically on the clock yet. He’s got you covered,” I say, totally making up that bit about the law. It sounded good, and I get the feeling Carson isn’t the sharpest tool in the shed, so I took a gamble saying it.

“Hey…I know you!” Great. I glance down at Casey, who looks up at me with a full mouth and chuckles, his shoulders shaking. I let my eyes roll up and wait for it. “You’re that grocery-store dude. Yeah…hey, you make, like, the best fuckin’ sandwiches, yo!”

“WOW,” I mouth to Casey, my back still to Carson. I’m not sure how you respond to this. Are people really friends with this asshole? Does Paige actually kiss him? Not that I really care who Paige kisses, but she’s pretty, and he’s so…

“Yep, sandwich dude. In the flesh.” I shake his hand and regret every second of this conversation. I regret it more when I see Paige walk in behind him, her eyes zeroing in on our hands. I’m shaking this asshole’s hand—the guy I told her she was better than. I look like such a jerk.

I pull my hand away and look back to Casey. “I’ll get everything ready to go; you about done?”

Casey’s being obstinate on purpose, chewing slower, taking his time, adding things like salt and pepper to the last few bites of his dinner. He’s doing it mostly because Carson was trying to bully him. But now he’s taking it out on me. I kick his foot out, and his sandwich falls from his lap. He catches it, but barely before it hits the floor.

“What the fuck?” he yells, breadcrumbs spilling from his stuffed mouth.

“Sorry, man. Not in the mood for a scene tonight. I want to get this going and get home,” I say. I don’t do late nights, because I do early mornings. We’re not getting out of here until two in the morning, and I’ve been toying with the idea of just staying up all night. My shift begins at seven.

Casey wads up his food wrapper and tosses it in an empty box near the stage. “All right, let’s get this shit started then,” he says, pulling the headphones from his console and moving a few of his settings until that devilish smile spreads over his face slowly. He’s always loved music, but when he started collecting things for mixing—making his own tracks—he got really obsessed with it. I actually love watching him work. I help sometimes, when he needs to borrow my computer. He doesn’t really need me, but I think he feels bad using my stuff without paying me for it. I really don’t do much, but I need the money, so I take it.

His blend of pop and techno starts to take over the joint, and eventually, my pool buddies are the last of the afternoon and early evening crowd to leave, the rest of the bar filled with college kids looking to hook up and let off steam before finals week kicks in.

Sometimes it gets to me that I miss out on this stuff. But I can’t leave my mom with everything; that wouldn’t be right. And really, what am I truly missing out on? I think this just as two girls start to grind with one another—practically making out while they dance in the center of the floor, the spotlights helping to accent the right see-through places on their shirts. Yeah…this is what I’m missing out on.