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The bar was mostly empty, which was typical for a Wednesday at two in the afternoon. Dan Wilson had the bartender pour him a Guinness Draft and a Harpoon IPA, and brought the beers back to a table in the corner where his companion, Shrinivas Kumar, sat waiting.

Dan, a large affable man with close-cropped hair that was far grayer than it should’ve been given his forty-eight years, handed the Harpoon IPA to Shrinivas – or Shrini, as he liked to be called – and took a seat across from him. As usual, Dan’s mouth was twisted into a slight grin. Dark circles under his eyes betrayed his typical good humor, however.

Shrini was fourteen years younger than Dan. He had a medium build, olive-color skin, and a serious demeanor. He dressed neatly and wore a musk-scented cologne. Shrini grew up in a northern region of India, near New Delhi, before moving to the States to attend college at the University of Florida. Majoring in computer science, he had moved to Massachusetts after graduation where he worked steadily as a software engineer until a year and a half ago. That was when the small software company he and Dan worked for had shut its doors. Since then he’d had one short-term contract job lasting four months, but nothing else. He took his wallet out.

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