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Grian digs his nails into the knee of his pants. Joel and JImmy across from him, sharing knowing looks, nudging each other to speak first. Grian swallows; his throat dry.
“Grian,” Joel speaks calmly yet there is a look in his eyes, “We’re guys—”
“We keep a little dirt under the pillow,” Jimmy jumps in, as serious as Joel, “for the Dirt Man.”
Joel nods while looking at Jimmy, then at Grian. “In case he comes to town.”
He blinks. Mouth agape. Brain lagging. “What–?”
“Keep a little dirt under our pillows for the Dirt man.” Joel continues, unfazed, unbreaking. “So he won’t take us down.”
Grian wants to scream. Grian doesn’t scream.
Jimmy presses a finger to his chin, eyes sullen. “To his lair… deep under the mountain.”
“What are you talking about?” Grian feels mad.
Jimmy takes Joel’s hand, reassures with a squeeze, Joel looks at him with a sad smile. Joel speaks. “Underground, that’s where he keeps his dirt.”
Dawn turns to dusk. Questions with no answers, no matter how much he tries. Grian is lost, helpless. They stare at him with pity. He has gone mad. Truly mad.
“By the way, Jimmy dented the bumper.”
“Oi!”