“Then what do you do?”

He takes another sip of his beer. “I’m a bridge inspector. Pittsburgh has 446 bridges, and I’ve been hired to inspect a dozen or more. The company I work for is called Bridgemarked. We have hubs all over the world. Hong Kong. Seattle. Maldives. Bangkok. Soul. Paris. Berlin. Elsewhere. I’ve been with the company for a dozen years, since I was twenty-two, fresh out of Emerson College in Boston. The company asked if I wanted to move here. I’ve visited Pittsburgh a few times and attended Steelers games. I love the city. I said why not move here if the job’s salary and package were good? Both were. Bridgemarked takes care of me.”

“Where do you live here in the city?” the question slips out of me with ease because I find it comfortable to talk to him.

“Three blocks away. On Chestnut. At Graile.”

“You have a condo?”

He nods. “Where do you live?”

“In a flat on Millbourne Way?”

He shrugs, and his eyes widen with question. “Which is where?”

“Over in Larkin. Closer to the city. A blue-collar place where all the steel mill workers used to make steel. It’s all apartment buildings now.”

“Sounds interesting to see.”

“Maybe someday I’ll show you.”

“Maybe.” He picks up his beer and takes three sips. Once he’s finished, he says, “You’re cute, Jake. How old are you?”

“I’m thirty-two.” And I tell him that I have a degree in business from Pitt but have failed to use it, besides in the bar, and that I’ve been managing Smooth for the last few years. I also tell him about my family: Lisa, my mother; Tom, my father; Dix and Dan, my older brothers. They all live in Denver now, having fallen in love with the place after a ski trip some six years ago.

Meat Market sings a song titled “Fragrant Flower.” It’s about a drag artist who turns into a Hollywood star, a heavy drug user, and commits suicide.

Kailin asks, “When your family took off, you decided to stay here in Pittsburgh?”

“Someone has to like the dirty rivers, right?”

He chuckles, enjoying my company. Following the chuckle, he’s just about to ask or tell me something, but we’re interrupted by Louis, my barkeep.

Louis looks like Harry Styles, and all the men who frequent Smooth drop to their knees for him. He doesn’t lack attention. He’s twenty-four. Young, sexually experienced, vers, and daring for all the right reasons with any guy, both young and old. He touches my right elbow and says, “Hey boss, there’s a problem in the men’s bathroom. The toilet’s plugged. Some bear-fag took a big shit, and it won’t go down.”

I excuse myself from Kailin. He nods and shares a gentle-handsome smile. I follow Louis to the bathroom and ask, “Did you plunge it?”

“Twice. Didn’t work. Shits floating. It’s disgusting.”

“Fuck,” I whisper. “We have to call Tandy. This is the third time in a month. He needs to lay off the meth and be a better plunger.”

“I can call him now if you want.”

“Do that.”

“We’re not paying him, right?”

“Absolutely not. He should have had this fixed two visits ago.”

Caught off guard, I’m pulled to the right by my arm. The force is strong and off-putting. Mr. Misty, the owner of Misty Books, just about kisses my right ear. I can feel his tongue against its lobe. His left arm wraps around my torso and clings to my side. I tell him, “Hold on. What are you doing, Ted?”

Ted Misty has lived in Pittsburgh for all of his fifty-one years. He’s a widower now; he's still plump, bald, and lonely. Desperate for attention. Needy. Always abrupt, both physically and verbally. He doesn’t kiss me. Instead, he rambles, “That beautiful man talking to you at the bar, what’s his name?”

I ignore his question and holler to Louis, “Make sure the water is turned off at the back of the toilet. We don’t want a flood.”

Louis struts ahead to the bathroom and the shitty mess.

“Tell me ... tell me ... tell me,” Ted demands. His clamp gets tighter around me.

I huff, shake my head, and feel annoyed. “Killian. He’s a bridge inspector... And just so you know, he’s straight, hiding from his bitchy wife, who taunts him into fighting.”

“He looks tasty. I want to eat him up.”

“You don’t stand a chance. He likes vagina.”

“That’s what my first and second husbands said,” he grins, breathing on my earlobe. “I lived with both for over ten years, each. Dick is what killed the pair.”

“Stay away from Mr. Newcomer,” I warn Ted Misty. Why do I say this? I’m not so sure. Is it because I find Killian handsome, enlightening the conversation, attracted to him, and wanting him for myself? Who knows? What I do know is simple: Kailin’s a regular at the bar. I’m sure he’s not into me. No way. The cute guy, in all likelihood, has six men lined up to bed him. No doubt.

“You’re a bitch,” Ted says to me as I pull away. “A filthy little bitch-boy.”

I share a wide grin and feel my cheeks go red with heat. “You’re jealous,” I tell him.

“Fuck off!” he hisses.

I leave his side, head to the bathroom, and see that Louis has everything under control. The toilet is empty, and he’s cleaning it. Even the black-and-white tile is clean. Such a good boy. I tell him, “Good boy, Louis. You still need to call Tandy. This can’t happen again,” and leave him to his task.

When I get back to the bar, Kailin isn’t there. He’s already left for the evening. Gone.

How disappointing.

Damn.