Free Yesterday's Gone: Season One by Sean Platt, David Wright Page B

off.
    “Goddamn, you are funny, boy.”
    Charlie glanced at the beer, still about 70 percent full, then lowered the can into the sink, quietly spilling all but 10 percent or so down the drain. He returned to the living room taking a sip of the beer as he entered. The beer tasted disgusting. Like shit’s shit, if shit could shit. Nowhere near as sweet as the wine coolers he’d downed at Josie’s. He made an awful face and Bob laughed again.
    “Beer virgin!” Bob said like he was some kinda frat boy asshole. Charlie would’ve rolled his eyes if he didn’t think Bob would knock one of them onto the floor.
    Charlie took another swig, though most of it was thankfully gone. He pretended to drink longer than he had been, then put the empty can down and let out a loud burp. That ought to make ole Bob laugh his ass off.
    And it did.
    “Holy shit, you’re done?” Bob said, grabbing the can and shaking it, “Wow, that’s impressive.”
    Charlie smiled and sat back on the couch.
    “You didn’t pour it down the sink or anything, did ya?”
    Charlie’s heart sped up. He wondered if Bob had seen him, but the angle of the kitchen’s opening killed the clear view into the living room.  
    “No, but I spilled half the can on myself. And . . . oh shit, the floor,” he said, realizing some had gotten on the carpet, also.
    “Hey, boy,” Bob snapped, a serious glare flamed in his eyes, “you watch your mouth, ya’ hear.”
    Charlie paused, staring at Bob, waiting for him to crack a smile or laugh, or tell him he was just kidding. Hell, Bob had just told him to drink a beer and now he was gonna’ get all hardcore about a curse word? Sure, Charlie never cursed in the house before, but that was out of respect for his mom. He never realized Bob would be Billy Bad Ass about a little foul language.
    Hypocritical fuck.
    Bob continued to glare, “You don’t use that language under my roof.”
    “Yes,” Charlie said, glancing at the floor, not even bothering to point out that it wasn’t his roof , but his mother’s, and that Bob barely contributed to anything, much less rent. God knew what he did with his money, but he sure didn’t give any to Charlie’s mom.
    “Yes, what?”
    “Yes, sir,” Charlie said, and shrunk into the kitchen to get some paper towels to clean the mess.
    As Charlie sprayed the beer stain with carpet cleaner, Bob got up and went to the kitchen. A moment later he yelled, “Hell, we’re outta beer!”
    Charlie cringed, wishing he’d mentioned that his was the last can. He was even more glad Bob hadn’t seen him pour half the last beer down the sink. He dabbed at the stain, soaking it dry with the paper towels, pretending to be deep in concentration and hoping to avoid Bob’s wrath.
    Bob slammed the fridge, came into the living room, and said, “Come on, kid, we’re gonna hit the store.”
    Charlie jumped up, threw the dirty paper towels away and told Bob he’d be right out, after he went pee, using the word pee , because if shit ticked off Bob, piss would probably make him go nuclear.
    “Okay, hurry up, I’ll be waiting in the truck.”
    Great, we’re gonna go out and do some drunk driving in a tow truck. That should be a blast.

    **

    Bob was a surprisingly good drunk driver, though he still went too fast for Charlie’s tastes. When Bob saw Charlie clenching the hand holder thingee above the passenger side window, he vented another one of his dirty, ain’t I an asshole? laughs.
    “What? You think I’m gonna crash us? Shit, boy, I’ve been driving trucks since before you were an egg in your momma’s snatch.”
    Wow, there’s an image.
    “I’m sure you’re a great driver,” Charlie said, “I was just thinking maybe the beers might impair your driving a bit.”
    Charlie regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth. He expected Bob to go ape shit.
    Instead, Bob laughed.
    “She-eeit, it takes more than a six pack of beers to get me intoxicated, kid. You ain’t even seen me