last night i met a man at Tony's

He sits down at our table, uninvited, and throws his faded brown knitted scarf onto it. "Bonjour Jerome!" he says, nodding to our French friend, their reconnaissance his entry ticket into our world. Jerome replies and he starts laughing, "isn't this dude fantastic? Man, I love him, i love him." he sits down and in two seconds is back up on his feet. "I'm Will. Nice to meet you --- yes -- cigarettes?" he disappears and Jerome follows. Rachel and I, intrigued, follow them out onto the back patio. Will is rolling a cigarette. His hands are dirty, filthy in fact--they seem to suggest adventure, a certain intended carelessness. I think, there are bathrooms in Tony's. This guy doesn't want to have clean hands. He raises his finalized cigarette to his lips and removes it again quickly. "I've been all over the world, man. I've been to Germany, England, Ireland, Scotland, Canada, Minnesota, California -- but Utah, man, the Moab is where it's at." He takes a drag, and continues. "You know what, Jerome? You should come to Colorado with me. Denver! And then we're gonna head up to San Fran, Portland, and then Vancouver, spend New Year's up there." He cocks his head at me. "What's your name again?" I tell him and he repeats it three times. "I fell in love with a French girl once. Beautiful, couldn't speak a word of English. 24 hours. Over." He raises his cigarette to his lips again and I am speechless because a simple, "Oh, yeah?" seems misplaced. Will excuses himself and disappears inside. "Il est beau, n'est-ce pas?" Jerome asks me, winking. Rachel responds, "Oui, il est beau, mais il est un reveur; il est un peu bizarre." "Un reveur," I repeat. "Oui, il n'est pas ici." Will returns and drapes his arm around us. "These are my ladies, Jerome," he says, with a mischievous look in his eye. "I gotta go. Red Brick. See ya around." He exits through the side door, leaving his pack of loose tobacco on the chair next to me. I put it in my purse.