“It was red, with chrome fenders. I wanted that bicycle more than anything else in the world.”
“Yeah, sure, you told me already. Don’t you think you’ve had enough, Ace?”
He was a stocky man. He’d been strong once, and he’d known as much about style as anyone does up in the north woods, but his body had gone to flab, his clothes had gone to mismatched plaids and grime, flecked with sawdust. I knew he was my age, but he looked thirty years older. And yes, he’d definitely had at least two or three beers too many.
“Don’t give me that. Give me another beer.”
“Ace, you’re drunk. I’m sorry, but I’m cutting you off. And don’t make me call the cops again.”
“Aww, Stan, dammit!” But he got up from his bar stool and wobbled in my direction.
( Read more... )Perhaps still to be edited, but written in one evening- yay me!