“No,” said Manuel. “It got all right.”
Retana leaned forward across the desk and pushed a wooden box of cigarettes toward Manuel.
“Have a cigarette,” he said.
“Thanks.”
Manuel lit it.
“Smoke?” he said, offering the match to Retana.
“No,” Retana waved his hand, “I never smoke.”
Retana watched him smoking.
“Why don’t you get a job and go to work?” he said.
“I don’t want to work,” Manuel said. “I am a bull-fighter.”