Tootfinder

A neighbor invites me out for drinks once a month. Two hours, two beers. Every time. It’s VERY rigid.
Nonetheless, the conversation flows. Despite some differences, I think maybe we are friends. Or developing as friends… in that stilted way that adult men do.
As I’m getting out of the car, he says “see you next month” and I now feel like a networked commodity, primed for whenever he might need me for something.
In my head, I hear myself think, “just leave the money on the n…