Art of Silence by Fitz Benwalla

“Cutty!” The room erupted in cheers as the man walked into Davy’s Locker Bar and Restaurant, arms in the air like he’d just won the middleweight belt and hadn’t just been released from Bridgewater State after two years. His father gave him a huge tearful hug. His fiancée—who was only his girlfriend when he went in—wept openly.

“Oh fuck, ” said Elbert on the barstool to my left. “You wanna get out of here?”

“Nah,” I said.

“I don’t like how you said that,” Elbert said.

“How did I say it?”

“Like you don’t give a fuck.”