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| Yellow Shirt thumped to the floor. The man sat there in his bell bottom jeans, his peace symbol dangling from a silver chain. Choking, he coughed out obscenities about the brutality of mother-fucking, baby-killing bullies. Grinning, I turned to Tom, swallowed the last of the beer, and scratched my forehead. I asked him, cynically, So, you proud of yourself? Tom's face reddened as he said, Guess not. Turning to the conscientious objector, but not to the man on the floor, he apologized, Sorry. And I mean it. He dropped ten dollars on the counter and told the bartender, Keep the change. The bartender swooped it up, leaned over the counter, and shoved the bills back into Tom's pocket, saying, Gy-renes, you got a free beer here anytime you want it. | The bar man told Yellow Shirt to get the fuck out of his bar and not to come back. So here we were across the country, light years later, sitting across a card table. Playing for my wife as the prize. Assured that Ellen and I were serious, they played furiously. Their attitudes had changed to a determined lust. Now and then, Leo, Paul and Tom looked toward Ellen who was sitting on the couch. She looked fearful. |