Billy drank from the flask, leaning back and in a way that pressed his shoulder blade into Goodnight's arm. When he brought the flask down, he remained there, their bodies touching just like that, casual and familiar. The years had been kind to their familiarity, and Billy was eternally appreciative of that.

"Not any more than this whole situation is," Billy assured. He watched the smoke again. They were getting toward the end of the cigarette. He contemplated a second one but, really, he was contemplating other things: more of this night cap, a roof over their heads, the impending doom weighing on their whole party, Goodnight's mouth, a bed to sleep in.