He doesn't think that the voice is calling out for him, but turns to look back anyway. He sees a girl jump off of the same bus that had taken him to the stop nearest to home. Its doors close with a flap and the bus drives away with all the noise of a lung-damaged dragon. The sounds fade with surprising swiftness, and he's left with only an echo of the call.
The girl doesn't say anything, just looks at him, almost as if pleading. He has little idea as to what she might want, swaying slightly on his feet as he waits. Had he left his wallet on the bus? He didn't think he had.
"I'm drunk," he offers after a moment, by way of explanation as to why he can't seem to come out with the kind of words the girl is probably waiting to hear as incentive to come out with what ever it is.
The girl sniff-snorts at the rather obvious, and almost rolls her eyes.
The girl continues looking at him and his scraggly beard, his drunk-etched face. He's heard the kids refer to him by the name of a dead Middle-Eastern dictator, but the girl seems more at ease now, for some reason. An almost-smile ghosts over her cheeks, and shies away again.
"You look good," he says, his inhibitions back at the last bar he left.
She doesn't. Her build is stodgy without the full breasts to make amends for it, and her hair is as dull and colourless as her raiment. He's had better. Years ago. What she looks like is young. He doesn't remember when that became synonymous with unattainability, but he knows that it's the youth that is the root of attraction she holds.
"My mom fucking hates you," the girl says, ignoring the compliment. She did look familiar, then. He doesn't know whether he wants to laugh the words off or strike her in the mouth.
What else is there to say, really? He was never too fond of the mouthy bitch, either.
"Did you ever want to fuck her?" she wonders aloud.
The words sting for a moment, whether intended as a jab or not. He hasn't thought about any of it in years, decades, now.
"Yeah," he says.
It's as simple as that.
"Do you want to fuck me?"
She asks the question casually, like asking for the time. He does laugh, then.
She's young and already that fucking broken. He blames the place, the neighbourhood. Nobody comes there unless they've got no place else to go. And there's things people will do to survive it that they wouldn't do in these other places. They wouldn't get it, the people that live somewhere else. He doesn't give a fuck.
"Why not," he says gruffly. He walks away, thinking the girl will probably follow. Most likely.
He doesn't think about it any more. It'll just be something not that cold and not that hard, just like he is. And it'll do, for a moment or two. For them both.