Neil San Francisco — 1985 Journey’s End

It is the night after Jim’s death. Neil and Jackson sit in Bert’s. It is just past noon, long before Pam is due in for work. It might seem odd to be there in daylight hours, but the harsh florescent light and recycled air keep Bert’s in a state of perpetual, unnatural twilight. Like an intensive care unit, or a casino. In Bert’s you can easily lose track of the passage of hours, days or seasons.

The diner is three-quarters full, but the booth in the back, where Neil and Jackson sit, is secluded. They order a cup of the dingy brown liquid that passes for coffee, two of Neil’s spiced muffins between them.

In spite of the soporific effect of scotch, Xanax and brownies, Jackson still looks haggard. His normally pink, meaty face is rough and darkened by an undergrowth of stubble. His small blue eyes lie in shadows.