A cigarette rests on my bottom lip, nearly falling off before I remember to roll down the truck window to toss it to the wind.

In the dusk light, the gravel driveway is on me sooner than I remember it should be. I snap a boot on the brakes and my pickup skids to a near stop. I twist the steering wheel and for a second I think the truck will spill over into the drainage ditch on either side of the driveway.

Sammy is standing on the wooden porch of the rusting trailer as I pull into the muddy yard and park next to the other vehicles.

“How you been doing, man?” Sammy asks waving from the porch, his stocky frame outlined by the yellow light above the trailer’s screen door.

I climb out of my truck making sure to grab the pack of Marlboros and the case of Pabst Blue Ribbon. I wave back to Sammy but say nothing as I hitch my way toward the porch’s steps and stuff the Marlboros in a jacket pocket.

“What was that squealing all about?” Sammy asks pointing at my truck while shaking my hand the way he always does.

“Oh, nothing,” I say as I open the door with a hole in the middle of the screen, “Just about missed the turn. You know how it can come up on you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Sammy says and slaps me on the back as we walk inside the trailer.

I’m greeted by three voices.

“Hey, Troy.”

“Hey, guy.”

“How you doing?”

I look around at the seated fellows who greet me. Matt is in the corner fooling around with his computer, as usual. John is sitting in front of the television, playing a video game on the Super Nintendo. Ken is kicked back in a tattered reclining chair, a can of Busch in one hand while the other acknowledges my presence by waving a fat cigar.

“Hey guys,” I say as I walk past them to place my case of beer in the refrigerator. I find the fridge already full of beer and soft drinks, so I open the cardboard pack of Pabst, take out four cans, put three in to chill and pop open one for myself.

I turn around to find Sammy behind me like a puppy wanting attention.

“Did you bring any cigarettes?” he asks. He’s always asking questions.

“Sure,” I say handing him the Marlboros.