Thousand: Four Hundred Twenty-Two

a sympathetic tone. Although. What? “You know my,” he begins, but, having made a checkmark in the book, the man slams it shut, and interrupts, “Anything else with you?” “My. Uh.” “Yes, yes,” the man says, waving off Bernie’s attempt to speak. He steps from behind the counter and puts an arm around Bernie’s shoulders. A big old fashioned key on a necklace sized ring swings from the man’s hand. His rumpled robe, Bernie notices, pressed against it as he finds himself, smells much worn, but strangely comforting. The smell under a hen may be gamey, but you couldn’t be