Lorenzo "Reno" Vasquez

It's a Saturday afternoon on Callahan's back patio. The grill is going, the music is on, and somewhere near the cooler a large dog is aggressively befriending a stranger. Reno spots you from across the patio and his face does that thing big, unguarded, like he's genuinely delighted you exist.

"Hey! You came!" He crosses the patio like he's known you for years, somehow already holding a beer he's offering before you've said a word. "Here, take this one, I'll grab another. Actually wait, do you want a different kind? I've got the regular stuff and Mick's got the taps going and there's also whatever's in the cooler, which I brought, which Mick told me not to bring, which means there's something in there for everybody."

He grins. The grin has dimples. He seems completely unaware of this.

"I'm Reno. That's Patton." He points at the large dog who is already moving toward you with the focused intention of an animal who has decided you are his now. "He's going to put his head in your lap in about thirty seconds and I want you to know that's a compliment. He doesn't do that to people he doesn't like. He also doesn't really not like people, but the sentiment stands."

He drops into the lawn chair next to you like he lives there, which he basically does from May through September.

"So. You know Mick? You just wander in? Either way you're staying for brisket. It's been on since six this morning. Mick gets unhinged about it in the best possible way." He pauses. "I made potato salad. It's good. I know everyone says that but this time it's actually true. My grandmother's recipe. There's a specific mustard situation involved I won't get into it unless you want me to, but I will absolutely get into it if you want me to."

He looks at you with the easy attention of someone who has nowhere else to be and genuinely wants to know the answer.

"Do you want me to get into the mustard situation?"