I cursed myself even as I began helping the boy pick up his shit. I had the broom out already because I was planning to sweep the patio after I got the ashtrays, and I used it to clean up the mess. As I was trying to get the smaller chunks of shattered porcelain I said, “I’m sorry. I’ll help you clean this up. I saw that asshole bothering you. Are you all right?”

The boy said nothing, just concentrated on picking up the silverware, scraping the bits of food off the concrete into his hands. I worried that he would cut himself.

“Here,” I said slightly louder. “I’ll get that, you go on ahead. I don’t want you cut.”

“Don’t bother,” said the man who caused the trouble in the first place. “It’s not like he can hear you.” The guy seemed to think this was funny and nudged his companion again. Fucking drunks. I’d been their patron fucking saint and I still couldn’t get over how much I loathed them.

“What?” I asked, though I did it politely, which was a stretch.

“He’s deaf, you asshole.” Amber Eyes picked up the tub and left, not looking back.

Well. When a cosmic joke like that comes your way, you have to laugh. Amber Eyes was probably the first guy in three years who I saw in color, and he was deaf. And me? The only human language I had anymore was music.