"Good, means I'm still alive," Dusty said with a nod and laugh. He took the bottle back, took another swallow, and set it on the rim of the truck bed. He made promises about as well as the other man made introductions, and raised a brow at his concern. He'd sanitized it then, which was more than he could say about half the cuts and abrasions he'd gotten out on the bayou or in the scrapyard.<br/><br/>"You mocking me,<i>Etranje?"</i>he asked, though it was more playful now than meant as any real offense. He lit a cigarette and untied the tow strap from the boat. He only needed the old motor, and there was some rust to knock loose from the fittings before he got it detached. It weighed more than the motor on his jon boat, but certain components would still be of use to him. He waved the young man over, one more time, indicating his intent to lift it into the back of the truck with the cigarette held between his lips.<br/><br/>"You want a ride back? Don't mind going trew Canal Street on my way home. Gettin' dark. Dat ting even have headlights?" Dusty wondered. "You been some help to me. Least I can do." He took the bottle back up, no longer really concerned about being pulled over. No one left on the road either to pose as a hazard. In reality, Dusty had enjoyed the quiet company of the stranger. He was an alright young man. Hadn't tried anything funny and that was rare in the world now. Most of the time, when two men got together now, they were trying to figure out the quickest way to fuck the other over. Those were the types that had survived the violence that the collapse of the world had brought forward.