"Let's get a drink," Guy agreed, and was alright following Neil for a change.

Guy didn't have a method for compartmentalizing. He didn't have a way to box and stow away any information, or emotion. He felt everything and could only cover it with something louder; with alcohol, with outrageousness or with sex. And with time, the information could settle, and he could handle it, and be fine. It might rear its ugly head at the most unexpected of times, and it might depress him and hurt. But then he would just cover it again with something louder, or with something that mattered more than his own personal feelings.

In England that something had been politics, and he had thrown himself into Communism with a passion. Here, he thought he might do something to make Neil’s life here everything it was never allowed to be where he came from.

The boy didn’t know what he wanted in his life here, and Guy’s answer was simple: want it all, want it now. Neil just had to be convinced of that.

“So, tell me,” he asked, as he motioned the barkeeper. “What made you come here tonight?”