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wants to outlaw smoking in bars?
 Yeah  I nodded  but that s one thing I m glad I won t be around to see.
 Word. He snuffed the cigarette out in the ashtray.  So how long did they
give you? What are we looking at? A year?
 One month, probably. No more than three.
 Only a month? Shit . . .
 Yeah.
 Did did you tell Michelle and T. J. yet? John asked.
I shook my head.  Can t, dog. I don t know how to tell them. T. J. s just a
little kid. He won t understand this shit. And Michelle . . .
The lump in my throat cut off the rest. I drank some beer, washing the emotion
down, and leaned back in the chair.
 I can t tell Michelle. There s just no way.
 You ve got to tell her!
 Well, when I get home tonight and tell her about losing my job she s already
stressed, you know? We re fucking broke and the bill collectors are on our
asses again. They keep calling and calling. She doesn t need this shit on top
of everything else.
 Man, fuck the bill collectors!
 She doesn t need the stress right now, John.
 But you re going to tell her eventually, right? You re gonna have to.
 No, John, I m not. Not if I can help it. I love her, man.
 Well this is a hell of a way to fucking show it, Tommy.
Saying nothing, Sherm shook out another cigarette from his pack and watched us
quietly.
 What? I snarled.  You got a fucking problem with me, John?
John held up his hands in surrender.  I m sorry, bro. I just can t believe
this shit. You with cancer. It s just so fucked up.
 Yeah. I rubbed my temples.  Yeah, it is. I m sorry too. The truth is, I
don t know what the fuck I m gonna do. I m really scared.
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Sherm lit the cigarette and started spinning his lighter on the table.
 Life sucks, then you die.
I laughed bitterly.  You know, I was just thinking that same thing the other
day.
He looked me in the eyes.  Well then live your life so that it doesn t suck,
man. Shit, Tommy, you know that it s coming, right? The doctor said it was
terminal. You re gonna fucking die, dog! So I say live your life to the
fucking fullest. You should be home right now, with Michelle and T. J., or on
a trip together or some shit. Why waste it in this shit hole of a bar?
Choosing my words carefully, it was a moment before I spoke.
 Because you guys are my friends. And who knows this could be our last time
together in this place.
John turned pale.  Don t talk like that.
 Why not? It s true.
He started to reply, then suddenly burst into tears. It startled me, scared me
in fact. In all the years I d known him, I d never seen John cry. Not once,
not even in fifth grade when Seymour Peters beat him up for making fun of his
name. But he was doing it now. Big, goofy, good-natured, dumb as a stump John
sat there bawling like a baby.
 Hey  I reached for him.  Come on.
 It ain t fucking fair, Tommy! Why s it got to be you? Why? It ain t fair!
He jerked to his feet, shoving his chair away from him. It slammed into the
table next to us, sending beer bottles crashing to the floor and spilling into
their owners laps.
 Hey, you stupid motherfucker! Look what you just did!
The guy nearest to John jumped up. He was huge, and it seemed to take him
forever to rise to his full height. He jabbed a large finger into John s chest
and glowered down at him.
 What the fuck is wrong with you, bitch? What s your problem?
Stammering and blinded by tears, John started to apologize and offer to buy
the next round. But before he could complete his sentence, the other guy s
friends were jumping to their feet as well. They were spoiling for a fight,
plain and simple, and I knew that even if we bought them another round,
there d still be hell to pay. There were seven of them and three of us. Not
good odds.
Sherm glanced over at me.
 I ll tell you one thing. You re right about this being our last night
together in Murphy s Place.
 That so?
 Yeah, because we re about to be barred from coming back.
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