I asked him who he was
He responded with, who do you think I am?
I said that question didn’t answer my question
He said that perhaps it did, more than I realized
I asked him to explain
He said nothing as his vacant eyes looked through mine
I asked him who he wanted to be
He said nothing. An eyelid twitched and he blinked twice and turned away
I asked him why he had such trouble answering me. Did he not know or not wish to say?
We sat in silence, the question wafting about overhead like cigarette smoke
He turned back to me and asked why I was talking to him in the first place. Why wouldn’t I just let him alone to finish his drink in peace?
I said nothing.
He asked me what my deal was. Who was I, anyway?
I responded with, who do you think I am?
He looked me right in the eyes, a direct connection, his irises simmering like a pot of water about to boil
Our questions answered.