“I know you think I’m some big Mack-Daddy,” he said letting out a sigh as he took a puff of a weathered cigar, “but I’m not the Grandmaster of Fuck you believe me to be.” Carlos looked across at Devin who had a eager sheen to his eyes.

“That’s not true! I know you get all sorts of babes,” Devin stuttered as he tried to inject life into a beaten dog of a conversation. “Just last week I saw you at the farmers market with an absolute ten! That girl had to be some sort of crazy sex pot.”

Carlos put down his dewy bottle of beer. A slim, crushed like bounced at the surface. “Devin, that’s was my daughter, Rosalia.”

“Oh.”

“Yes.” Devin bounced his leg.

“Is she?”

“Tread not unto the path of lions— for their bite shall deliver a world larger than their roar.”

Devin’s goofy face widened in hero worship again. This was the Don Juan shit he knew Carlos had been holding out on him. “What does that even mean?”

“It means stay the hell away from my daughter, Devin. If not for the sake of our,” he twirled his hand, “friendship? Then for your own safety. I’m not the lion in this allegory.”

“Who’s the what?”

“She will eat you alive and I’ll be left with a longer bar tab than I’d like. Which reminds me, you’ve got this, right?”