Joe

"Damn, this is fucking brilliant." He's already eating the cookie as he's sitting down across from me, maneuvering himself into the steel chair across from me, on the other side of the round yellow table.

"Since when do you say 'brilliant?'"

"What? Brilliant. Who cares? They say it in commercials."

I'm watching the crumbs collecting all around, but not inside, his plate. The cookie is 3/4 of the way eaten before he offers it to me. "Dude. Try this. Vegan molasses. I can't believe it's vegan." He holds it up towards me in a way that suggests he knows I'm not going to take him up on his offer.

"I'm OK."

"Suit yourself." The cookie disappears.

"So how has it been?" I ask, absent-mindedly swirling the coffee with my straw.

"Meaning?" He plays coy on purpose.

"The job stuff."

"What about it?"

"Have you been doing OK?"

"How else would I be doing?" He uses the tip of his finger to pick up some of the crumbs on the table and brings it to his lips. "It's not the end of the world."

"I know, but, I mean, I guess it can't be easy."

"Nah, whatever. It's kind of a good thing, helps you reprioritize what's important and what's not. Trim the fat, you know?"

"I guess."

"Yeah." he looks away, towards the windows, where the first hints of summer highlight girls finally walking around in skirts and dresses after a long and dreary absence of legs.

"So is there a plan?"

"Huh?" He refocusses his attention on me. "What?"

"Is there a plan? Are you, like, approaching this in a certain way?"

"Am I approaching this in a certain way? Yeah, I cash my unemployment checks, get a whole shitload of singles, and blow it all at strip clubs. That's how I'm approaching it."

I laugh, "funny thing is you're probably telling me the truth."

"Funny thing is that I'm not." He starts looking around again, then leans in and whispers, but loud enough that I know the people in the tables next to us can hear. "Dude, there are so many hot girls here."

"What did you expect, it's the West Village."

He pushes himself back again, throwing his body against the chair so that it tilts a little and he has a moment where he shuffles to regain his balance. "Shit, these things are death traps."

"Try not to be so animated and I think you'll be OK."

"Seriously though, it's crazy. All day I walk around and I'm staring at everyone. Everyone is hot! I think I need a girl. But first, I need a job. You know, it's not easy meeting women when you don't have a job."

"I can see that. But maybe it's the new black, you know? Like it's 'in' now. All those unemployed bankers. Maybe it's a little more acceptable than it would have been a few months ago."

"Give me a fucking break."

I laugh, "Fine, maybe not."

"You're such a douchebag."

"Chill. I'm just trying to lighten the mood." And really, I am, but now I feel like I've inadvertently offended him.

"There's a time and a place for your dark humor, and this is neither the time nor the place." His gaze is fixed on me, his finger pointed right at my face. Then he dips that same finger back towards the crumbs and brings some fresh ones to his mouth. "Why is it that all our conversations go back to women?"

"It's kind of a fascinating subject."

"It is." He delivers an impassioned nod.

"And we're in our 20s."

"We are."

"And male."

"Keep it coming with the worthless details. Lets do this." He closes his eyes and spreads a Cheshire Cat grin across his face.

"And you desperately need to find your better half because this half is lagging the fuck behind."

"Dude, no more unemployment jokes. It's getting old."

"You read into that one. I was talking about your weight."

"You find me an extra $60/month and I'll sign up for the damn gym." He grabs at the side of his stomach and pinches. "I don't think this used to be here."

"Honestly, you've looked the same for like the last 10 years." I feel bad that maybe he might be taking more of this personally than I thought.

"So you're saying that 10 years ago I was hotter?"

"Yes. That's exactly what I'm saying."

"Can we change the subject? Isn't there something else we can talk about?" His attention wanes again. "That waitress is cute," he says, tilting his head towards her with an intent to be all inconspicuous-like, but in short, tense movements that makes it look like he has a nervous tic. "Is she always here?"

"Pretty much."

"This place totally raises my spirits. I just need to be around hot women and I feel better. Anxious and bothered and love-lorn, but better." He sits for a moment, motionless, contemplating something. "Ah!"

"What!?"

"Let's change the subject, this is driving me nuts."

"Fine. We can always talk about Swine Flu."

"Um, don't you mean H1N1?"

"You're an asshole."

"Thank you Dr. Sanjay Gupta."