"Henry, wake up."

Convulsing at the flood of early morning sun that the east-facing bedroom window brought down on him Henry felt the oblivious comfort of sleep vanish immediately with the first painful stab of awareness, and the hangover that lurked just behind it. The light felt like acid washing over his eyes. The words "just one" echoed balefully through his mind.

"C'mon, sweety, get up."

Clamping a hand over his grimacing face Henry said, "The light, Christ, Laura, close the blinds."

She jumped on him playfully, her hands on his bare chest, straddling his pelvis, her large green eyes staring mischievously into his. "I don't care how hungover you are. We're going out for breakfast. But first," she said in low throaty whisper, her mouth to his ear, "I want some yum-yum."

* * * * *

"Yum-yum?" Tristan roared with laughter. From the opposite end of the bar Aarfy raised an eyebrow and scowled.

"That what she calls it. And, actually, that's what it is."

"I like the way your lady thinks."

Henry raised his pint glass to his lips and took a heavy swallow, then continued. "Every Saturday morning it's the same; a ritual, y'know? Starts at 7 am sharp, no matter what time I got back the night before, no matter what condition I'm in. You see, she's always incredibly horny on Saturdays. And I'm usually pretty hungover, but once she starts there's just no stopping her until, well, until she's exhausted her lust. She's like a hurricane, all sound and fury. The sex is amazing; she really brings out the best in me horizontally, and, um, sometimes vertically, too. I can't begin to tell you."

"Well, why don't you?"

Henry glanced at Tristan's eager face and greedy eyes and shook his head. "You would want to hear it wouldn't you? What wrong with you, man?"

"Nobody likes a tease."

"So then we go for breakfast, and I had the best omelet I've had in my life. Like a symphony in cheddar and ham."

"Omelet?" asked Tristan.

"Let me tell you something. There's nothing like making love to a beautiful woman in the morning that you might be in love with to wake a man up to the poetry in his life. Of course everything is the same, but suddenly everything is blurry around the edges. Suddenly everything is significant, everything's fucking beautiful, I'm alive to take it all in like a great big thirsty sponge and see the poetry in a good omelet, even," replied Henry thoughtfully.

"Poetry, huh? Well, I can see the poetry in things too. In a shot of good whiskey, as it races down your throat," Tristan said then abruptly shouted to Aarfy, slapping the bar with his hand, "Hey, let's have some god-damn service here, two hits of Turkey! I can even see poetry," he said returning his gaze to Henry's, "in licking whipped cream off a woman's breasts, but an omelet? Man, I wonder about you sometimes."

Henry smiled and said, "You know something, you're pretty dumb for a smart guy."

"That's funny, I was thinking that you're pretty smart for a dumb guy."

Aarfy put the drinks down and said, "Yer both idiots. But especially you," raising a meaty hand to point at Henry. "When are you gonna get a job, anyways, ya degenerate."

"I got a job."

"Yeah, what?"

"Drinking the swill you got in this place."

"Oh, a real career guy, huh?"

"Ever notice," Henry said, turning to Tristan," you put a guy behind a bar and suddenly he thinks he's a sage? Got the answers to all the world's questions tucked in the pocket of that greasy apron. A fountain of wisdom."

"I agree with Aarfy. You're a fucking degenerate."

"You talk too much, I ever tell you that?"

"To be honest," Tristan replied, "I really don't listen to most of what you have to say."

"Actually, neither do I."

"So are you seeing her tonight?"

"Laura? No. She's going out with her friends."

"Any nice looking friends?"

"They're all gorgeous, all knock outs."

"So when am I gonna meet this mystery woman of yours, you never bring her out."

"I would, and I know you want to meet her, and she wants to meet you."

"So, what's the problem?"

"Don't take this the wrong way, but I don't think you two would get along," henry said before swallowing the shot of Jaegermeister.

"Why?" Tristan said, sounding hurt, "I can talk to anyone."

"Just call it a hunch."

"Whatever," Tristan said. "I still can't believe that you moved in with her."

"I couldn't live with my parents forever."

"True. But the whole moving in thing, man, there's commitment in there somewhere, isn't there?"

"I don't see it that way. I look at it like two can pay the rent better than one."

"Doesn't she pay the rent?"

"Well, sure, for now, but once I get on my feet, y'know, it'll all change."

"Sure it will," Tristan said, trying hard to sound sincere.

"What are you trying to say?"

"You're not a real man, Henry, you're a kept man."

"You make it sound like there's there's something wrong with that."

"As long as you don't think so," Tristan said as he drank his shot of whiskey. "Still, we have to double date sometime."

"We'll see," Henry said. He finished his beer, then leaned close to Tristan soberly, furtively "The king is back."

Tristan jerked back, eyes wide, "What?"

"There was a message on my machine when I got in last night from Owen."

"Owen," Tristan said, shaking his head in disbelief. "He's out already?"

"Yeah," Henry said.

"Paroled, or escaped?"

"Don't ask me. He didn't leave a number, but he said he'd meet us tonight at the Peculier Pub, eight o'clock."

"I don't know, man. Things happen when Owen's around."

"You don't have to tell me, brother."

"Shit." Tristan said, "For once let's just make sure nobody gets hurt tonight, huh?"

Henry smiled and said, "Happy endings are for suckers."