"Catfish and the ol Fontenot secret spice rub," Dusty answered, settling in and laughing at the idea that he'd planned the whole thing. "If I was counting on being alone I would have brought a jar of moonshine and nothing else." The beer was reserved for more special occasions, though he didn't say that outload. It had a certain nostalgia to it that didn't transfer sitting at home, drinking by himself. Moonshine had the desired effect and was a replaceable commodity. He'd considered finding what he needed to brew his own stout, but without someone to share it with, it seemed more of a sad reminder project than anything. Dusty took one of the pieces of fish. It didn't matter that it was cold. The spice under the breading came through and the double fry beer batter was still crispy in many places. Seemed the beer brought on the same feeling of nostalgia with the young man as well, because he got to reminiscing.<br/><br/>"Life for me hasn't changed all dat much, to be honest wit'chou," Dusty admitted.<br/><br/>"Always lived alone, out on da bayou. Only difference is I took it for granted den. Being alone was by choice. Now, nobody got a choice." Not unless you wanted to join certain groups of low key criminals. Or risk leaving for better opportunities that might not even exist.<br/><br/>"I come back out dis way, tree weeks from today, if you want to learn how to fish." What were they doing? Dusty was usually closed off, self destructive even when it came to getting to know someone. Loneliness had taken hold. There were no quick fix outlets that he could abandon the following day  with no further thoughts to them. Now, they were open and raw with one another. Dusty had missed certain things he didn't want to admit. Without thinking much of it through, Dusty had moved closer to the man whose name he still didn't know. He pinned him in with one hand held against the side of the truck. Still holding his cigarette, Dusty leaned forward and kissed him on the mouth tasting of spice, beer, and tobacco.