Thousand: Four Hundred Sixty-Eight

orange. He nibbles the fingers holding it. The cowboy withdraws his hand and touches the fingers to his own tongue, then he peels off another section and puts it between his lips. Bernie moves in and takes the protruding part into his mouth and bites it off. Slapping his thighs, the innkeeper rises and bustles off, muttering something about a fresh pot of coffee. “This is a really good orange,” Bernie says, although the words come out more ilke, “Un um mernsh.” He feels very down to earth, practical, like nothing could come up that he couldn’t handle, couldn’t take