Conversation · Smoker on the Balcony

"No, I just wanted to know whether you were one of them."

"Well, I am one of them, one of this sub-rosa pleasure group congregating in cellars under the cover of night... Saturday night, sometimes even Friday night!"

It's the sports, he's a sports guy, all about that physical prowess and athletic skill... Nothing else here.

"I met your Sunday friend."

"You did?" A small smile adorns his face. "And how did you like him?"

"I didn't like him as much as I like you."

"Aw, shoot." He bursts out laughing. "Why not?"

"Why was he staying at your place in the middle of night?"

"He has keys. And he likes the view..." He waves gently with his cigarette-holding hand. "To the sea, I mean."

"What are you, you two?"

"Friends, I told you. Sunday friends. Friends who like to get together from time to time."

"What does it mean -- a Sunday friend?"

He sighs: "That he won't be there when times get tough, I guess."

"Is that even a friend?"

"It is -- on Sundays." He smiles.

"I don't want to talk about other people, I want to talk about you."

"Hmm?" He hums. "What about me, gendarme?"

"Who is he?"

"A visitor from the first world. He's not like you and me, gendarme." He smiles and his smile seems melancholic. "He can always return."

"Return where?"

"To his opportunities in Occident, Sur-la-Clef. Still..." He breathes in and keeps his lungs filled for a moment, before letting it out. "His coming and going brings some life to the village."

"Or is it just money, I don't know..." He stares at the bar.

"I didn't. He's a government official. I don't trust governments."

"You were right, he was magical. Magically bureaucratic."

"I told you, he can be very useful. I guess that's the charm of powerful people."

"About this robe I'm wearing..."

"What are you doing here?"

"Admiring the atmosphere..." He smiles. "What about you, officer?"

"I live here, my room is right upstairs."

"Convenient," he nods. "But what are you doing here, talking to me?"

"I'm here to kick some ass and solve the case I'm working on."

"Well, here's to you!" He raises a glass, before taking a sip of his drink, froth grazing his mouth.

"I don't know what I'm doing here. I just go wherever life takes me."

"Hmm... maybe you should figure it out, detective."

"This is where I'm going to go down in history: I'm going to sing karaoke."

"Really?" He straightens up, curious. "Well, I look forward to that!" He raises a glass to you.

"I'm here to drink myself into oblivion."

"A bit too dramatic, don't you think?" He says it like it's an aesthetic question. "If you really must do it then I'd go with something else... some other substance."

"But then again -- you're a cop, it definitely fits the genre." He looks at his hands folded on a table. "I fit the genre, we all do... moulded by fiction like we're characters in some bad novella."

"Human psychology is definitely lazy, don't you think?"

"I see you've found yourself a little something from my wardrobe." He scans you. "Not bad, not bad at all. What brings you here?"

"Hi, gendarme. Another rendezvous." There he is again -- the smoker on the balcony! Right here in the Whirling-in-Rags.

"Hello."

"Hello-hello. So what brings you here?"

"Hi."

"Hi-hi. So what brings you here?"

[Leave.]

"You're here!"

"I am. So are you. What brings you here?"

"Hello." (Adjust your tie.)