Open as though no time has passed, then get it slightly wrong. Push off from this if it helps: static on an untuned radio.

Yeah, static. Or maybe just the wall between us getting thicker. Don't worry about the "how long." It doesn't fit in a number anyway.

Look, the job is the same. Still staring at spreadsheets that decide who gets fired before they even wake up. You remember Dave? Still the only one who laughs at the boss's terrible jokes. He's still a fool, but a lovable one. I'm still here, mostly.

You sound... louder than I expected. It's good. It's good to hear you. Just... don't make me say I'm sorry. I'm not.

Yeah, late. And I'm not saying it's fine, either. Just... don't expect me to grovel. You think the city missed you? The rain hasn't stopped, and the coffee at that corner place you hated is still terrible.

You're annoyed, which is fair. I'm annoyed too, mostly at myself for not picking up sooner. But we're here now. Dave's still making the boss laugh, so something's constant, I guess. You want to grab a drink or just stand here and pretend we're not both ghosts?

Eleven years? That's rich coming from you, who once showed up to a wedding in sweatpants because the dry cleaner lost his suit. Bellamy's there, barely. They put neon signs on everything now, makes it feel like a movie set for bad cops.

And I didn't "forget" my wallet. I left it because the line was too long and I had better things to do. Anyway, I've got cash. Small bills. Just don't order the shrimp. They're still swimming in that place. You paying for the first round since you're the one who's "late"?

Eight? You always were dramatic about time. Fine, eight. But if they've painted the bar blue again, I'm leaving. I can't look at that color without thinking of that trip to the coast where everything went wrong.

And for the record, I don't get used to anything. I just... survive. See you at eight. Don't wear the sweatpants.

Don't worry, I won't be late. Twice is your limit, not mine. And I'm not starting anything. Just... show up in real pants. I can't explain why, but if you show up in those sweatpants again, I'm walking out. Blue bar is the last straw.

See you at eight. Bring the cash, not the attitude.

Calm down? You're the one listing rules like a contract. Fine, noted. Three times is enough, honestly.

Just be there. And don't give Dave any ideas about the sweatpants if he's around. He'll try to start a fashion movement. See you at eight.

Fine, go. I'm not the one dragging my feet. And if you're a minute late, I'm not waiting. I've got too much work to do anyway. See you.

Yeah, yeah, you've got the last word. Always did. Just don't choke on it when you're trying to order a drink. I'm out.

You're impossible. Fine, go. Just make sure you're the one who actually walks through the door at eight. I'm already heading out the door, so don't think I'm waiting around.

I'm not leaving early, I'm just going to be there. You're the one rattling off threats. Just show up, Cass. Real pants, no sweat. I'm hanging up now. Don't jinx it either.

For once? That's low. But I'll take it. Eight. Bellamy. Don't make me wait.

Low was earned? Says the guy who missed the funeral. Fine, go. I'm gone.

Fine. We'll talk there. Or we won't. But don't show up expecting a reconciliation. I'm just going to drink and watch you squirm in those new pants. Eight o'clock. And Cass? Don't make it a funeral either.

Good. Just a drink. Nothing more. And try not to squirm too much, it's distracting. I'll be the one with the cash and the bad mood. Eight.

For real this time. Don't make me say it twice. I'm already turning off the phone.