He maneuvers his truck into a space and slips out into the setting sun. The toothpick constantly in the corner of his mouth shifts from one side to the other, the remnants of his addictive personality. He knew ten years ago when he quit smoking that he would be able to overcome the nicotine addiction but not having something for his mouth to do in its absence, was something else. He makes his way up the stone path to the bottom floor apartment on the right. His knock echoes down the long cool hall. Greylan answers with a pull on the door. One look and Jackson knows he’s still fighting some stuff. It seems today is worse than most days. When Greylan showed up earlier he attributed it to nerves about the fight. This is the precipice on which he failed five years ago. Seeing him again there must be more than just his nerves. He dismisses it because the last thing he needs is Greylan rattled before this fight. If he hasn’t figured it all out up to now, a few hours won’t help even if he would be willing to open up, which Jackson doubts is a possibility.
