"Do you remember Jimmy Jax?" she asks.
Now there was a name from the past. "Of course," he says. "Jimmy Jax. Introduced me to smoking. And getting drunk."
"He was killed in a motorcycle accident."
This kind of information is always a little jarring. But, in the case of Jimmy jax, he isn't too surprized.
"Was he stoned?"
"I don't know," she says. "Probably."
He looks at her face. She is more upset than she should be.
"Were you dating him?"
"Jesus, Ro! Were you -- " he doesn't finish with the obscenity he has in mind. "With Jax?"
He is a little out of practice with this highschool drama shit, he thinks. It makes sense, though. She has always had a thing for him. Last time he saw Jimmy, Jimmy was getting grey hair and a beer belly any middle-aged low-life would carry around with pride.
"He went into a coma and died three weeks later," she says.
"I always thought something like that would happen to him," he says.
"You are really a shit," she says.
"What do you want from me?" he asks.
And this is an important question. He doesn't know whether she can give him a proper answer.