Not Mine.

---

Generic Spending Holiday

“To loneliness.” A half-smoked Marlboro was pulled out from between chapped lips and placed between an index and middle finger. Two brown glass bottles clinked against each other.

“Amen,” said the one with the cigarette. He placed it back in his mouth and inhaled deeply.

“I hate Winter.” The other man muttered. His attention quickly shifted to the cigarette. “Come on, now, we don’t want you addicted to those things, do we?”

“Oh, like you aren’t?”

“That’s different. It doesn’t matter if I get lung cancer.”

“Yes, it does. It’d kill you faster.”

“Great! I’d get the hell outta this dump sooner,” A pair leather-covered arms flew up into the air, making an emphatic gesture. The beer had been placed down on cold concrete of the rooftop the person in question was standing on.

“Roger, come off it. You know this topic is not my favorite.”

“Oh, here we go with the fuckin’ guilt trip!” The leather-clad man smacked his forehead with his open palm.

“Whose idea was it to come up here on a freezing cold day without winter coats or blankets or something?” A slightly smaller young man in a plaid-print coat bounced up and down, trying to work up some body heat. He stopped his jittering only to take a drag of his cigarette.

“I dunno. Yours?” Roger wanted to say ‘we don’t have any heavy coats,’ but decided against making Mark go insane with worry.

“Why would I come up with something like this?”

“Er... dementia? Or, maybe, impaired judgement due to mass alcohol consumption?”

“You can’t answer a question with another question. And I’ve only had, like, two beers. So shut up,” Mark frowned.

“Still, I think it was your idea.”

“How can you possibly think that when you always say that I bitch about you going outside and shit?”

“Like I said, you probably have dementia. Either that or I’m very persuasive.”

“How about,” Mark snuffed the cigarette out on the concrete before continuing, “C: none of the above.”

“Fuck you.”

“Aw. Love you, too, Rog.”

“Oh, you see through me so easily,” Roger said sardonically.

“Damn straight.” Mark lit another Marlboro.

“Which you are not.”

“Whoa, that was cold,” Mark mumbled through the cigarette.

“Don’t worry. If my girlfriend dumped me for another woman, I’d question my sexuality, too.”

“Piss off.” Mark leaned forward, watching the cars drive by their six-story walk-up.

“Look! A fag smoking a fag!”

“Ha-ha. You come up with that on your own, Chaplin?”

“Yes.” Roger snatched the cigarette from Mark and took a long, deep drag.

“Don’t quit your day job.” Mark smirked at Roger, then turned around. “I’m gonna head inside.”

“No-oo! Don’t leave me!” Roger lamely reached out to grab Mark’s scarf.

“Cough up five good reasons why I should stay.”

“The view, the cigarettes, the booze, the privacy, and me.”

“Whatever. Gimme that back.”

“M’kay. Here’s your cancer stick.” The small white and orange object was handed back to Mark.

“Thank you.”

“Anytime.” They leaned against the high wall of the rooftop, sharing the cigarette and enjoying the companionable silence.

Finally, Roger spoke. “Hey, Mark?” He tossed the useless cigarette stub to the ground.

“Yeah?”

“I hate this holiday.”

“Join the club,” Mark deadpanned, “We have jackets.”

“Why do you hate it?”

“Because it’s all an industrial scheme to sell bad candy and cheap cards. Any significance it ever possessed is long dead.” He frowned. “It’s another one of those generic spending holidays.”

“Bitter much?”

“Fuck off.” Mark laughed. “Why do you hate it?”

“Because it reminds me that I have some serious bad luck with love.”

“I do, too. I mean, fuck, a lesbian and a transgender!”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. What? Transgender?”

“Okay, this one chick I dated decided that she wanted to be a boy.”

“At least your girlfriends don’t die and/or leave you for techies and roadies.”

“Mister Negative.” Mark flicked open his lighter once again.

“But I’m positive!”

“Roger...”

“Sorry.”

“Mm-hm. Apology accepted. Now let’s get the fuck inside. I’m cold.”

“I gotta do something first!”

“What?”

“What I did last Valentine’s Day!”

“... Eat candy?”

“No, dipshit, spend some time in Mimi’s apartment.” Roger smiled sadly.

“She’d be happy that you did.” They began walking towards the exit.

“Yeah.” Roger snatched Mark’s newly-lit cigarette from between his numb fingers.

“What the fuck?” Mark growled. Roger flicked the still-burning cigarette over the side of the building.

“I’m saving your health. Now get inside and fetch me my guitar. I’m gonna play her song.”

“No. Not unless you start being more nice.”

“Fine, then.” Roger leaned in towards Mark. “Marky, sweetie, can you pretty-please go get my guitar? I’ll love you forever!”

“Somehow I think that even if I don’t get the guitar, you’ll still love me forever.” Mark walked back to the edge of the building.

“Ah-hah. Keep telling yourself that.” Roger grinned. Mark, always the tactful one, picked up Roger’s half-frozen beer and threw it in Roger’s general direction. “Fuck! It’s in my socks!”Roger squealed as the beverage seeped through his worn-out tennis shoes.

“Happy Valentine’s Day!” Mark leapt towards the stairway and bounded towards the door to their loft, laughing like he hadn’t in months.

“Oh, yeah, totally,” Roger muttered to the open air as he squelched towards the stairwell. “Best ever.”