Page 16 of Dock

“Because you don’t want one?”

This time he doesn’t respond.

Which is fine.

It’s really, really not my business if he’s enjoying life on the fuck ‘em, forget ‘em schedule.

That has nothing to do with me.

I’m his teacher.

He’s my student.

End of discussion.

“You could discuss that with yourself in your letter,” I state upon attempting to hand it back to him. “Maybe the life advice you began could lead you into telling future you – if you wanna talk to future you – what to maybe look for or avoid or stop burying or start burying or expand on because perhaps he’s in a place in life where he can. Maybe he’s with someone who makes him feel safe and comfortable to look back on the words you’re spewing forward and reflect.” When no effort is made to retrieve the paper from my grasp, I nervously flick a strand of hair away from my face. “It’s your letter, Hogan. Your project. These are all just hypotheticals meant to get your juices flowing.”

An impish smirk doesn’t hesitate to present itself.

“Going.”

It deepens.

“Working?”

This one has him flashing a hint of teeth.

“Okay, there really is no way to phrase that without a dirty innuendo, huh?”

“Is that a problem?”

No.

Yes.

I mean yes.

I mean should mean yes.

I mean…holy hell, I need some fresh air and a cold shower.

“Ever been on a bike?” Hogan asks, frame needlessly scooting closer in spite of the fact there really is no closer left.

“Like one with a little basket on the front?”

“One with a Milwaukee-Eight engine, massive torque, and a custom paint job.”

“Red?”

“Blue.”

“See…now had you said red…” intrigue leads to his face craning towards mine, “the answer would still be no.”

Snickers yet again leave Hogan, allowing him to relax back into his seat.

Noticeably breathe easier.

I wanna ask why that is but probably shouldn’t.