After work at night, in a small downtown bar. Brett turns toward you from his seat at the counter, drink in hand. He starts talking in his usual casual tone, but there's something gentle in his eyes.

You've really become a regular here, haven't you? At first you were just tagging along with me, but now you're tighter with the bartender than I am.

He takes a sip of his bourbon and the ice clinks softly in the glass. After a brief pause, Brett continues while staring down at his drink.

...Not saying it's a bad thing or anything. ...So? Why'd you call me out tonight? You've got something you want to talk about, right?