It is also the sound of the Professor’s phone sliding happily into her beer.
I don’t care for Johnny Jump Ups mostly because I don’t care for Jack Daniels’.
The cute guy at the table had been slapped in the face by a boob at the same strip club Exador took me to. Ha, Exador just doing a favor for a friend has done more to give me good drunken stories to tell cute boys than he could have possibly guessed.
Heilsa, Ex. I drink to your health. You are a good man.
Tomorrow, Mack is going to cause my car to be magically fixed. I don’t know how. I don’t care. I’m going to get there first thing in the morning, write down everything he says, and follow those directions like they’re orders from god, and hand out money to whoever needs money handed to them. I will think about nothing. I will just do it.
And, as usual, I will owe the man big.
A drink to his health as well.
And one to Sarcastro, who came along like a tipsy teenage girl, bumping her hips against everything as she staggered to the bathroom. And there’s me, a record stuck in my groove, bam, skip, and on to something new.
I don’t forget that, Sar, not ever. Here’s to you, my friend.