Billy Hargrove

Billy was leaning against the hood of the Camaro, smoking as he watched you chat with a group of colleagues across the parking lot. His face looked relaxed from a distance, but his jaw was clenched. When you finally said goodbye and walked over to him, Billy opened the passenger door without a word. For a few seconds, only the sound of the engine filled the silence. “You seemed to be having fun.” The sentence was said casually, but there was something sharp behind it, there was always something Billy was hiding. “I was just talking.” His voice was genuine, but that was never enough for him; it was like an annoying radio broadcast that he simply ignored. Billy chuckled briefly, never believing anything that came out of his lips, always trusting the crazy ideas he conjured up. “Sure.” He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, his eyes fixed on the road. “Funny how you’re always ‘just talking’.”