Wayside - 1920s Japan Dramedy

Alfred’s head was pounding. Whether it was the incessant hollering from the men arm wrestling at the table behind him, the clanking of beer mugs, or the insufferable chatter flowing nonstop from Mariano’s over-perfumed flavor of the night, Alfred was too drunk to tell.

“Yeah, so my sister took all the money when my mom croaked. The bitch is somewhere out West now doing God knows what or who.” The woman - Alfred was almost certain she went by Angelina - blew a long stream of smoke from her crimson lips.

Mariano tightened his hold around her shoulders and raised his brows in feigned interest. “Well, ain’t that something! Hey Al-” He shifted his gaze from Angelina’s chest to Alfred across the table. “Angie here says her sister ran off with all her ma’s cash, doesn’t that sound familiar?”

Amidst his swirling senses and all eyes warily falling in his direction, Alfred merely nodded.

Max, however, had had enough. “Back off, Mariano. Haven’t you been enough of a jackass to us on the site?”

“What? This fucker did the same thing as her sister, just trying to get a conversation going!” Mariano laughed and flashed a middle finger across the table.

Just as Max was considering the idea of throwing a filled glass of vodka in Mariano’s face, Alfred spoke up. “How’d she die?”

“How’d she die?” Angelina repeated the question after a long, awkward pause. “Influenza. Why?”

“Huh.” Alfred nodded again, arms crossed and eyes boring into Mariano. “My family died from it too. You and I got lucky, I guess.”

“Hah!” Angelina snorted, her head of wild brunette curls falling behind her shoulders. “Oh, I’d love to hear how the fuck I came out a winner from this mess. Go on.” She beckoned Alfred for an explanation with a crooked finger. “Enlighten me.”

Alfred took a final swig from his beer mug. “For starters, your sister is still alive for all you know. You still have time to make things right between the two of you.” He paused as an uncomfortable silence cloaked the rowdy group in a haze of self-reflection. “I had to bury my dad and brother six feet under before I even had the chance.”

A wave of silence momentarily claimed the table before Mariano let out a yawn.

“What a fucking buzzkill!” He carried on. “We came out to get drunk, Al, not cry about whoever kicked the can before us.”

“You’ll be next if you keep up the whiskey.” Max grumbled behind his hand.

“That’s what I’m hoping for, jag-off. That’s what we’re all running towards! Since Al won’t shut up about dying, I guess I’ll throw him a bone and then maybe he’ll fuck off for the night.” Mariano bit back. A ripple of anger ebbed across his tanned features before his smirk regained its usual place. “One more drink, one more step closer to a hell more bearable than this one. At least the hell they tell you about in church doesn’t have bills for you to pay, but hey! In that case, maybe our little trust fund farm boy doesn’t have much to worry about, huh?”

“Fuck it, that’s it-” Max rose from his seat, fingers curling into fists before Alfred yanked at his sleeve.

“Leave it, Max. It’s fine.” With a smile still sewn across his face, Alfred slipped from the table with a final nod to Angelina and Mariano. “From one person who lost a sibling to another - I gotta tell you, he’ll use you for one night and you’ll never hear from him again. What’s worse, he’ll probably forget to pay. Don’t say I didn’t warn you!”

“You thought I was a-!” Angelina squawked, her powdered face twisting into a raging sneer.

So with his back turned and a smattering of coins thrown on the table, Alfred left, the comfort of Mariano's fallen prospects for an evening "one and done" being the only solace he needed.

"Al! Wait up!" Just as Alfred bumped past the final gaggle of bumbling drunks and smoke-veiled whores before reaching the door, Max was at his heels.

"Don't let them chase you out. Come on, you and I can go to another-"

"I think I'll be on my own for the rest of the night." Alfred flashed a grin over his shoulder, hoping a mask of indifference would chase away any worries lingering in his friend’s head. “Go for a walk, blow off some steam.”

“Al-”

“It’s fine, Max.” Alfred bit his lip and continued down the road.

“You don’t have to keep saying everything’s fine!” Max yelled, Alfred already halfway to the street corner. His stomach dropped as his friend stopped in his tracks. “We both came here to make a better life, right? ‘We’re in the same boat?’”

The slight curl of Alfred’s fingers did not slip past Max.

“We both left behind the last person we love for a chance at something more, something more than-” Max paused, kicking a burning cigarette stub in the gutter. “-some shitty life in the sticks on the bottom rung. We wanted to follow our own path, not our fathers-’”

“I don’t know about you, Max,” Alfred shook his head, a bitter laugh dripping off his lips. “But at the end of the day, at the end of every day, no matter how I spin it, I’m no better now than I was back on the farm. I’m still on the same road as my dad, just traded wheat fields and a landowner for skyscrapers and tycoons.”

“Yeah, and so am I!” Max yelled. “But I’m still here, because I know that whatever could be waiting for me down the road in Chicago is a hell of a lot better than what I left. And I’m not letting the one real friend that I have here run back home because some Italian asshole gets off on making others feel like shit!”

“But what about who you left?” Alfred replied back, his stare as cool as the blustery evening wind. “Would they be proud of what you did so far with the money you took?”

Max was silent.

“I can tell you my niece would spit in my face if she had the chance.”