Henry was actually pretty normal-looking for the people who showed up at George’s door to couchsurf. Enormous backpack, probably at least fifty pounds; obviously well-worn cowboy hat; red-and-blue checkered shirt, a pair of aviators dangling on the second button; lightweight, deep indigo jeans; beaten-up but lovingly cared-for leather boots. Really, the only thing that surprised George at this point was the unceasing ability of young rednecks and trustafarians to look and dress exactly alike. But Henry seemed nice enough. George invited him inside and showed him around. It was getting late already, so he suggested they head into town and get dinner and maybe some beers.

“I bike most of the year but take this bus to work in the winter,” George said as they sat down.

“You said you work in IT?” Henry asked, keeping the smalltalk going.

“Yeah, I’m a sysadm for one of the pharmaceutical companies in town. Really good benefits — I can’t complain.” He paused for a moment to look at the map above them. “There’s a food truck event every Friday in the town square. I’m pretty sure you can find pretty much anything you want to eat, and it’s pretty cheap.”

“Sounds great. I’ve been eating farm food for a little too long. I could use something that doesn’t have any potatoes in it,” Henry said, smiling.

“OK, but a word of warning, because you seem pretty well-traveled: the sushi is pretty bad. It’s probably just ‘cause we’re so far from the coast or something, but I can’t bring myself to eat that stuff.”

Henry nodded and didn’t say anything for a moment. It occurred to George that, since they’d gotten on the bus, Henry had seemed like he was concentrating on something, but George had no idea what. “Something on your mind?” he asked after the pause.

“A little, I can tell you later.” George had expected another pause, but Henry responded immediately, the same slight smile across his face as before. Then, suddenly back to small talk, as if to change the subject, “how’s the music scene around here, by the way?”

“Well, that depends what you’re into,” George started on the spiel he’d gone through a few dozen times before. “It’s no Austin around here, but there are some good country, bluegrass-type bands and some weirder artists playing gigs around here. Burning Man-types. No clubs. The place I was thinking of going should have something going on, but I’m not sure. I assume you’re still in?”

Of course, Henry was. They spent the rest of the ride talking about which music they liked. They both decided on a taco truck and were pleased with the choice. Henry suggested they get some beers at a grocery store but remembered they were in Utah and suggested they just head straight for the bar. By that point, they’d learned to converse with one another pretty well.

“So what are you planning on doing once harvesting is over? Where do you usually go for the winter?” George asked, taking a seat at the bar with Henry. He ordered a couple of IPAs. “You want to just get the next round and we’ll take it from there?”

“Yeah, that works. Anyway, usually I just head where it’s not winter. I was in Hawaii most of last year, actually, and I’m thinking of going to Puerto Rico until next summer or so. The problem is the travel costs, though. I usually don’t make much more than room and board, so airfare pretty much kills me.” The beers came and they both took their first sip. “I usually end up doing something else on the side — computer stuff pretty often — to save up for my next big move.”

George nodded and didn’t say anything while they both drank about half of their beers. He looked over at the band that was setting up. “I still have no idea what kind of a music a band called ‘Amish Tech Support’ is going to play. Oh my god, look there. I think that’s a theremin.” 

“You’re kidding me.”

“It’s the season.”

“I think I’ll need some more drinks for this.” He waved to the bartender for another two beers and downed the rest of his bottle in one gulp. George figured he could afford to let loose tonight and followed Henry’s lead.