Eight

The mile marker campground was nearly deserted.  A single car, a newer model Subaru wagon with expensive looking mountain bikes attached to the roof rack was parked in their favorite spot. A man and a woman in tight fitting biking attire were efficiently setting up camp.

“Shit, who are those people and what are they doing in our spot?” Dave stuck his head into the front seats of the Cherokee between Billy and Rich.  He had risen from his nod.  He was rallying.

“Give me that, Billy.” Rich pointed at the travel bullet. “I need some of that.”

“Looks like we’ll have to share the campground with those folks,” said Rich.  He parked the Jeep on one of the designated campsites a respectful distance from their unexpected neighbors.  He shut off the engine, stepped out of the front seat and waved at the man and woman. 

“Goddamnit, don’t do that!” Dave hissed.  “If we get all buddy-buddy with those two yuppies we’ll have to hide the tackle box!”

“Yuppies.  They’re not yuppies.”  Billy had climbed out of the Jeep, fired up a Marlboro light and sat down at the battered picnic table chained to the fire pit.  He leveled his stare at the man and the woman in the neighboring camp.  “They’re winners.”

“What?”  Dave and Rich simultaneously responded.

“Hey, what’s that make us? Dave added, still too drowsy to deduct the obvious answer.

“Losers.”

Rich emerged from the back of the Jeep with a large, red Coleman cooler.  “I’m no loser!”  He opened the cooler and pulled out a bottle of Mezcal, took a liberal swig and hoarsely whispered, “I brought it to wash down the blotter.”

“Well, maybe you aren’t and maybe you are.  I know I am.”

“Am what?” Dave took a swig from the bottle Rich handed him.  He passed it to Billy and turned back to the Jeep and his tackle box.

“A loser.  That couple over there look like real winners… well, at least to me.  Hell, practically everybody’s a winner, compared to me.  I lost a lot of shit, hundreds of jobs, places to live, guitars, cars, dogs…"

“Two wives,” Dave interrupted and stuck out his tongue.  There was a small square of white paper on it.

“Yep, two wives and a bunch of girlfriends, some of them were real nice.”  Billy took a deep drag from his cigarette.  His eyes were fixed on the two athletic looking people who by now had noticed the tanned, skinny man in the tank top at the picnic table, smoking and watching them intently. He exhaled, “And soon, I’m gonna lose my life.  Ebb and floe man, easy come and easy go.  Where’s my blotter?”