Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
This story is copyright 2007 by the author who retains all rights.
Warning: This story concerns adult and teenage gay males who may be involved in sexual situations. If it is illegal for you to read such stories, or if you do not like to read such stories, please leave now.
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Or, feel free to send an email to: carl_holiday@att.net.
I have to go to school tomorrow after being away for nearly a month, but today Tim is taking me to meet his Uncle Jerry for some reason. I wasn’t listening to his explanation. We’re taking him to lunch down on the waterfront. Uncle Jerry was a Corsair pilot in WWII who was shot down after getting a bunch of medals “simply for being a damned good pilot.” He lost his right foot, left hand, and dick and balls.
According to Tim, he’s lucky to be alive. I’m a little nervous about meeting him. Tim said Uncle Jerry is good with guys who have problems like mine. I have a psychiatrist. Why do I need another older man to talk to about why I have to kill myself? Yet, Tim thinks Uncle Jerry can help me.
We’re in Tim’s car, it’s a ’53 Ford Coupe. It has a bad case of skin cancer so the blue and white paint is splotched with rust spots, but it runs good. His dad had the engine and transmission overhauled so Tim would have reliable wheels. Tim is four months older than me and he got his license last summer; and his parents gave him the car when he came home. They’re rich, but you’d never know it from the way Tim acts.
The first thing most people notice about Tim is that he looks like he’s maybe twelve or thirteen, not sixteen. He’s got a hormone problem and puberty is taking its time. We’ve known each other for only a few months, but we’re a lot closer because we both had the same best friend when we attended Licton Springs Elementary, only we didn’t know about it until the very end. Stevie Carlson died in a horrible accident with his family. I tried to kill myself because of my unbearable grief. Tim almost had a party celebrating Stevie’s death because Stevie had been forcing him to have sex. Like they say, there are always two sides to every story. Tim had a bad experience and I had a good one. Now, knowing what had been happening to Tim has kind of forced me to reevaluate my friendship with Stevie.
“You’re awfully quiet today,” Tim said as the car did a little wiggle in its lane. Tim can’t talk and drive. He’s a killer on the tennis court, can swim like a fish, and sucks dick like a pro, but if you get him behind the wheel of a car don’t you dare say a word or you’re going to hear cars honking all over the place.
“Watch where you’re driving,” I said. “Listen to the radio. It’s a lot more interesting than my problems. What is that song? What station are you listening to?”
“KJR.”
“Rock?”
“Yeah, don’t you listen to this station?” Tim asked.
“I don’t have a radio,” I said. And, I didn’t. “Who’s that?”
“The Beatles, you’ve never heard of the Beatles?”
“No.” I said.
“Where do you live? In a bottle? Don’t you do anything for fun?”
“I suck your dick for fun,” I said. Tim has a nice dick, not a good fucking dick, but really nice for sucking. It’s not too long and very slender, even when hard. Puberty is not being nice to Tim.
“Besides sex, what do you do?” Asked Tim.
“Read a lot, learn foreign languages, do math problems, jerk off.”
“Are you going to be able to go tomorrow?” Tim asked, obviously tired of this line of conversation. The car was weaving down the road. I was surprised we hadn’t sideswiped the cars parked along the side. It was a good thing I was paying attention to what he was saying, otherwise I would’ve been paying attention to his driving and that was scary.
“Yeah, just a little nervous,” I said. Well, I was a whole lot nervous, but I didn’t want to worry him. “Not everyone gets to spend time in a shrink shop and come out without a big red “N” stapled to their forehead.”
“What red “N”?”
“Like the Scarlet Letter only this one stands for nuts. Kids are going to find out.” I said.
“You’re being paranoid. No one knows shit.”
“Someone knows and they’ll tell everyone,” I said. Someone always tells. Secrets like mine are the fodder of gossipers. Innuendo is a powerful tool of those who aren’t crazy as a loon. “People are going to avoid me like the plague.”
“So, what? How many friends do you have at school?” Tim asked.
“Well, you, Monica, and maybe Mark, but you know I don’t want to be his friend. There was that other guy, but we won’t mention his name, okay?”
“No, we don’t say his name.” Tim said.
His name was Kiel. He murdered his parents and older sister, nearly killed me, and brutally assaulted my five-year old sister. I wanted Kiel to be my friend, but he was crazier than me, only no one knew until it was too late. I tried really hard to be his friend. Now, after spending a month in a private psychiatric hospital recovering from what Kiel did to me, I kind of wish I’d left him alone. You just never know about some people, but Kiel offered something I desired very much. I don’t have many friends and Kiel seemed to be willing to be mine. It’s surprising what people are willing to put up with just to have a friend.
Some people might wonder why I went to the nut bin because someone tried to kill me. Well, I’m nuts to begin with. I’m a jumper. There’s this part of my mind that wants to die and it’s convinced a lot of the other parts of my mind that it’s a good idea. When Kiel tried to kill me, my psychiatrist figured I might have looked at the assault as a good thing; or worse, like a failed suicide attempt, which is kind of like the way I felt about it.
I like Tim because he’s trying real hard to be my friend. He knows I have mental problems, but it doesn’t matter. He likes me no matter what’s wrong with me. We had a rocky start at first, well, I guess you could say, and there are some who do say, he raped me, but his dick is so insignificant and he can practically come by just thinking about sex, it wasn’t all that bad. I know about being raped and although Tim forced me, it wasn’t the same as actually being raped. I mean who uses lube to rape someone?
Okay, I’m crazy. I admit that. I’ve been in the psych ward at County General. I was raped in there, more than once. There are a lot of crazy guys in that place who really like sinking their dirty dicks into a nice, fresh teen butt. I’ve been in a private funny farm, too. I have a psychiatrist. I take pills. I’m nuts, but Tim didn’t rape me. He’s too nice to do that to someone.
“There’s Uncle Jerry over there in front of his apartment building,” Tim said suddenly doing a U-turn in the middle of Columbia Way causing four lanes of cars to honk their horns.
“Nice trick. Did your father teach you?”
“Yeah, but don’t tell him. I don’t think I was supposed to learn that maneuver. You’re going to have to sit in the backseat. Uncle Jerry has to sit up front.”
When Tim stopped at the curb, I jumped out. Uncle Jerry was standing a few feet from me. He had to be in his early forties, but he looked a lot younger. His black hair was neatly trimmed short. His closely shaved face was more round than long, he had a small nose, and his ears weren’t the same size. It sort of gave him a lopsided appearance. There was a hook where his left hand used to be. The right hand was missing the little finger. I was staring.
“It’s all right, son,” Uncle Jerry said. “If you think I look bad now, you should see me naked. Hi, my name is Jerry Chambers. You must be Geoff Johnson.”
I mumbled something incoherent and shook his hand. His grip was strong, firm. I hoped mine was acceptable.
“You’ve got a good looking boyfriend, Tim,” Uncle Jerry said after he closed the door. “Is he a good fuck or are you still bottoming?”
I stopped breathing and died. I wanted out of the car. Then Tim opened his mouth.
“I did it once, but I still have a short fuse,” Tim said, over-adjusting the wiggle causing the car to swerve out of its lane. More cars announced their disapproval of Tim’s poor driving skills. “I mostly suck him. All Geoff has to do is kiss me and I come. Sometimes I come when I’m sucking him. It’s pretty pathetic.”
“He likes being fucked then.” Uncle Jerry said.
“Oh, yeah, well, you know what happened to him with Kiel.”
“That kid deserves to burn in Hell for twenty eternities. So, Geoff, you like a big dick up your ass?” asked Uncle Jerry.
“Uh, yeah,” I mumbled, too shocked to say anything out loud. Who was this man? Tim’s uncle, his Sex Ed teacher, or some pervert?
“Well, I guess you’re kind of out of luck with the two of us. Right, Tim?”
“Boy, ain’t that the truth.” Tim said.
Thank god nothing more was said until we were down on the waterfront looking for a place to park. I have three uncles and none of them are anything like Uncle Jerry. I was beginning to wonder what exactly his relationship with Tim was. Then I got out of the car and felt a hand on my ass.
“Nice ass, Geoff,” Uncle Jerry whispered in my ear. “I bet you are a good fuck. You like it long and slow, or quick like Tim?”
“I don’t know,” I whispered. I wanted out of this. I wanted to walk uptown and catch a bus home, but Uncle Jerry had his arm around my waist.
“Come on, Uncle Jerry, quit trying to make out with my friend,” Tim said. “You’re going to scare him.”
“Oh, I’ve already scared him. I’m surprised he hasn’t pissed his pants.”
“Come on, Geoff, we’ll go get a table,” Tim said, pulling my arm. Uncle Jerry got in another quick feel of my ass before Tim pulled me away.
“He likes you,” Tim said.
“Sounds like he wants something,” I said, looking back at Uncle Jerry. He smiled and gave a little wave.
“Well, he can’t do anything. Just humor him, okay? Try to laugh it off; it’ll go a lot easier.” Tim said.
“Are you mad at me?” I asked. Tim’s tone worried me.
“God, Geoff, quit being so submissive. Slap his hand away from your ass if you don’t want him touching you. If you don’t stop him now, he’ll have your dick out of your pants quicker than you can say Christopher Columbus sailed the ocean blue.”
“And, what will he do with it?” I asked. I thought of a lot of things I like Tim to do with it, but did I want a forty-year old war hero doing something with it?
“Put it in his mouth and give you the best blow job you’ve ever had.” Tim said matter-of-factly.
“You’re kidding. Tell me you’re kidding.”
“Uncle Jerry doesn’t have a dick, okay? I told you that. When they stitched him together they tried to make him look kind of like a woman, only he hates that. He’s kind of okay with not having a dick, but that slit between his legs embarrasses the hell out of him. He overcompensates by getting very sexual with my friends. He sucked Stevie. I was there when he did it in his bedroom. I didn’t actually see him do it, but Stevie wouldn’t let me take him back.”
“What about Kiel?” I asked.
“Never had a chance to take Kiel to see Uncle Jerry.”
“What about you?”
“God, Geoff, what are you, sick or something?” Tim asked. “No, wait, I’m sorry. That wasn’t being nice. No, Uncle Jerry hasn’t tried to do anything to me.”
“Family, huh?”
“Yeah, family, but he’ll do you if you’re not careful. Just tell him to stop and he’ll leave you alone.”
I do not like seafood. Fish is okay, sometimes, but clams, oysters, shrimp,
and crabs are arthropods like insects and spiders. Insects of the sea. Imagine
a big, juicy ant smothered in a garlic tomato sauce on your dinner plate
and you’ll know why I do not eat bugs of the sea. Tim had the Captain’s
Plate, lots of different bugs. Uncle Jerry had sautéed prawns, big
bugs in butter and garlic. I ordered a hamburger basket and the fries tasted
like they’d been cooked in fish sauce.
I did not like being in that restaurant with a sex fiend like Uncle Jerry. I couldn’t help imagining him with my dick in his mouth. I tried looking out the window at the waterfront, but it was November, raining, and cold. The seagulls were huddling together along the piers. The boats that were out were working boats, tugs, ferries, and a couple small freighters. No pleasure boats. It was the beginning of the gray drearies. We probably wouldn’t see the sun for another four months, definitely not a time to be depressed.
“Hey, Geoff, come to Earth and join the party,” Uncle Jerry said bumping my foot with his.
“Huh, oh, sorry,” I mumbled, not looking at him. I wanted to go home. There wasn’t anything for me at home, but at least I wouldn’t have to be with this man.
“You ever go to the john here?” Uncle Jerry asked.
“Uh, no,” I said, not liking this line of conversation, either.
“Come on, I need to pee. They’ve got a guy in a tux in there who’ll wipe your ass for a buck. Come on; get your ass out of the booth. I’ll give him a twenty and he’ll lick yours with his big soggy tongue.”
I looked at Tim, but he only shrugged. Now was the time to put my foot down. I needed to do something about this man. So, I slid out and followed Uncle Jerry to the men’s room. I looked back at Tim. He shook his head and turned away.
“Hurry up, Geoff, I don’t want you peeing your pants, again,” Uncle Jerry said loud enough for a couple booths full of people to hear. “God, kids these days.”
I think he thought he was being funny. I was very close to hating him, only I can’t hate someone, it’s not in me. I don’t hate Kiel for nearly killing me. Maybe I don’t have the hate gene.
The restroom was huge, but there wasn’t a man in a tuxedo. There was a little kid standing in one of the stalls with his pants pulled down. The door was open showing his little bare ass. He was peeing. Most of it wasn’t hitting the toilet because both of his hands were at his sides. Poor kid probably had a mother who wouldn’t let him touch Mister Pee-Pee. You can almost imagine what their bathroom smells like.
“Come on, Geoff, back here,” Uncle Jerry said beckoning from the last stall.
All I had to do was turn and go back out the door. I didn’t have to follow Uncle Jerry. I didn’t have to do this. I locked the stall’s door and turned to see Uncle Jerry sitting on the toilet. There was quite a lot of room in there. He took hold of my hand and pulled me towards him. I shut my eyes, not wanting to watch.
The toilet flushed.
“Come on, let’s go,” Uncle Jerry said. “You thought I was going to suck your dick, didn’t you?”
“Uh, yeah,” I mumbled. He was standing close to me, close enough to kiss me.
“You’re a good kid and Tim’s been feeding you a line of bull, but here’s my phone number. Go on, take it. If you ever need to talk about shit, anything, give me a call. I’m not a bad guy. I’m not family. Okay?”
“Yeah, sure,” I said, taking the slip of paper and putting it in my wallet.
“I do know one thing, Geoff. You need to laugh more. Who’s your favorite comedian on television?”
“I don’t watch TV.”
“You don’t watch TV? What do you do? Jerk off all the time?” asked Uncle Jerry.
“I read a lot.”
“Smart, huh?”
“I had to take the IQ test four times because I kept getting too high of a score and every time I took it the score kept getting higher. They finally figured out I was just getting good at taking the test.”
“Off the scale?”
“Almost.” I said.
“Where are you going to college?” asked Uncle Jerry.
“Harvard, maybe MIT, I guess.”
“Go to Columbia. It’s in New York.”
“I know where it is. I’ve been there.” I said.
“I went there.”
We were back at the table. Tim was finishing his meal. He eats slowly, too slow actually.
“Are you good with math?” Uncle Jerry asked.
“Sort of, I’m better at languages, and logic,” I said. “My Uncle Walter wants me to go to USC, his alma mater. My mother wants me to go to Cornell, her father, my grandfather went there. I’ve got a few years to decide.”
“You could probably go now.”
“Yeah, but I couldn’t take Tim.” I said.
“Take me where?” Tim asked. He looked like he hadn’t been listening, startled out of some teenage reverie. I hoped it was me he was thinking of, I don’t know what I’d do if he was thinking of someone else.
It was raining. Drizzling, actually. Thick, drizzly fog. You can’t
use an umbrella because it’s raining just as much horizontally as
vertically. Pleasant shit. Mother and I are in Principal Jennings’
office, he’s reading the letter from Doctor Randall, my psychiatrist.
He’s slowly shaking his head, not smiling, this isn’t going
well.
“I assume Geoff is on medication?” Principal Jennings asked.
“Yes, he takes a pill at breakfast and another at dinner,” Mother said. She was using her official voice, the one she uses with lawyers and salesmen.
“I’m not certain we can facilitate Geoff’s readmission,” he said. He wasn’t looking at either of us. “We have liability issues. With Geoff’s, uh, illness we would be concerned about the safety of the other students.”
“He’s not a danger to himself or others,” Mother said. She was still holding her ace. “That can be validated in court if you desire.”
“You see, I don’t know if I have the authority to allow Geoff back into our school,” he said. He looked nervous. Sweat was beading on his forehead.
“Call your lawyer,” Mother said.
“Why would I want to do that?” he asked.
“Because I’m serving you this court order,” Mother said, handing the principal a little document Doctor Randall gave her when I checked out of the psycho bin. “We, Geoff’s psychiatrist, my lawyers, and I anticipated this. Call your lawyer Principal Jennings.”
“Uh, well, yes, I guess I’d better,” he said as he rose from his desk. “Geoff, I think it’s best if you go on to class. This is going to take some time and will probably end up in your favor, anyway. Mrs. Johnson, I’ll advise the school district.”
“Thank you, Mr. Jennings,” Mother said rising from her chair. “Geoff, now you call if you need anything. Okay?”
“Yes, Mother.”
Monica and Tim were waiting for me outside the principal’s office. I shrugged a greeting and walked out into the hall. I had the red “N” stapled to my forehead, good and proper. It was only a matter of time before some student made something of my absence.
“Hey, Geoff, sorry about Kiel,” Stewy Martin said, walking past us toward the first floor boys’ restroom.
“Uh, thanks, I guess,” I said, wondering why, of all people, Stewy hadn’t made a big deal about my obvious absence. Stewy had been my major nemesis since sixth grade.
“You missed the sophomore volleyball tournament,” Stewy said before turning the corner. “You missed a good opportunity to demonstrate your athletic skills, again.”
“Oh, shut up, Stewy!” So what if I have the athletic abilities of a tree? I’m good in other ways. If Stewy wasn’t such an ass about everything, if he didn’t think he was better than me, we might have had chance to get to know each other. He did have a nice ass, for an asshole.
“See, no one knows,” Tim said. “Now, go to your honors whatever class and get your missed assignments.”
“Okay.”
“Geoff? See you at the Fairy Table,” Monica said.
“Yeah, I’ll be there.”
They walked together toward the stairs. They’d be up on the third floor for the rest of the morning. I never ventured to such lofty heights. All my classes were a lot closer to the ground; smart kids didn’t have to climb stairs. Heck, most of us were too uncoordinated to carry books, walk up stairs, talk to whomever, and watch out for some muscle for brains bent on destruction of another honors student.
I turned and headed in Stewy’s direction. Pre-calc was the order of business for second period. Only I was too tired. I wanted sleep, lots of sleep. I damned near forgot to turn the corner and when I did, I saw him.
It was Sam from the walnut orchard, the funny farm that had been my home for the past month. The boy who liked me. The boy who seemed worse off than me. He was staring at me. He must have been waiting, but he didn’t go to North Park High. He didn’t belong here. He was supposed to be at the psycho hospital, I thought. He smiled.
“What are you doing here?” I asked. I walked over to him and his eyes went to the floor. “Why aren’t you at the hospital? What’s going on? You don’t go to school here.”
“I ran away,” he whispered. He put his hands into his pockets. He was wearing khaki slacks, a bright red, orange, and yellow madras shirt, and penny loafers. He needed a shave, but smelled like he’d recently taken a bath. His blue eyes were bright, lively, which was so unlike him.
“Where are you staying? What’s going on?”
“I had to see you,” he said. “You left without saying goodbye. I miss you.”
I thought of Tim and what he’d say, but Sam intrigued me. He was so outside my normal, crazy life, I wanted to be with him.
“Can I see you tonight? Sam asked. There was a pleading in his eyes. “I know where you live.”
“What?”
“I want to see you,” he said.
“Why?”
“I like you.”
“Why?” I asked again.
“Because,” he said. Well, he had tried to jerk me off in the hospital. If that isn’t liking someone, what is?
“Are you okay?” I asked. He looked strange, kind of like someone who’s crazy, really crazy. I’ve seen that in movies. The crazy person always has a weird look about them like they’re in their own little world and don’t want you to join them.
“Yeah, we’ll talk tonight. Okay?”
“Yeah, you can come over, I guess.” I said uncertainly.
Then he walked out the door. He was kind of skinny, but had a cute ass. But, what was he doing out of the hospital? I wondered if I should call Doctor Randall. If I was a good little boy, a tattletale, I’d do that. I decided to wait.
Kiel’s spot at the Fairy Table, our lunch table in the cafeteria,
was occupied by a somewhat familiar looking boy who I wasn’t certain
I knew. It was a face I’d seen before, maybe back in third or fourth
grade, but I wasn’t sure. I sat down across from him. He smiled at
me then turned to continue his conversation with Mark, Monica’s boyfriend.
“Hi, Geoff,” Mark said, looking up from a peanut butter and strawberry rhubarb jam sandwich. For as long as I’d known him that’s what he had for lunch. Mark was a tight end on the North Park football team.
“Hi,” I said, trying to remember who the other kid was. He was obviously older than the kid I might have known, but there were some points of recognition that were causing my mind to run through pictures of classmates at Licton Springs Elementary and Bruce Bigedic Middle School. His light blond hair was shorter, football short. He had more muscles, a thicker neck. He’d been working out. A splash of acne across his nose and cheeks was unnerving, but there was still something about him that made me keep staring.
“I’m Dick Connor,” he said. There was something about his dull brown eyes that suddenly made me fear him. “I beat the shit out of you in fourth grade because you were such a smart ass about everything. That got me expelled from Licton Springs. I ended up at Thornton Meadows, then Samuel Gompers. I just transferred in from Crestline because of something someone said I’d done. I didn’t do it, but my parents thought it best I come here since it’s supposed to be my high school anyway. What the hell are you sitting here for?”
“I always sit here,” I said, looking at Mark for some degree of help. He looked out the window at the bronze fairy in the atrium. That’s why the table is known as the Fairy Table. It takes a lot of guts to sit there. Who wants to be known as a fairy, unless you already are?
“Yeah, well, maybe you need to find a new table,” Dick said. “Did you hear me?”
“Yeah, sure,” I said. I stood up and picked up my tray. I didn’t know where to go. Tim was still in line. Monica hadn’t come in, yet. I didn’t know what to do.
“Are you still here?” Dick asked. He was flexing his hand into a fist. I remember the bloody nose and the black eye caused by that fist. I remember my aching gut when that fist slammed into my stomach.
“I’m going.”
“Then go!” He said.
“I’m going.”
“Well, I think you need a little encouragement,” he said.
He was up on his feet before I knew what was happening. A fist slammed into my face. I was on the floor, the tray of food on top of me.
“Richard Connor, I saw that,” Vice-Principal Washington said, appearing out of nowhere, which is where vice-principals go when they’re looking for some stupid kid to screw up. “Come with me.”
“He hit me first,” Dick said.
“Like hell he did. Are you coming nice or do I have to subdue you?” Vice-Principal Washington had been in the Marines. He’d been trained to subdue. He was always pleasant. Asking if you wanted to be nice, and then giving the subtle threat of being subdued. He was over six feet tall and built like the proverbial brick shithouse.
“Do you think you scare me, ni …?” Dick started to say before a black hand had him by the neck and was raising him off the floor. Vice-Principal Washington was walking toward the office with a completely subdued Dick Connor before anyone else knew what was happening.
“Geoff Johnson, get yourself cleaned up and come to the office,” Vice-Principal Washington said from the hall. The cafeteria was quiet enough for me to hear him. Then pandemonium broke out.
“Are you all right?” Mark asked, looking down at me from his seat at the table. He hadn’t lifted a finger to help. If he wanted to be my friend, he was losing points.
“A lot you care,” I said, picking food off my shirt and slacks. My face hurt. I wanted to cry. I wanted to go find Sam. I wanted to be anywhere except in the same school as Dick Connor.
“Hey, he beat me up, too,” Mark said, “and, didn’t Tim tell you about sitting at this table during lunch?”
“No.”
“Well, you brought it on yourself, that’s all I can say.”
I sat outside Vice-Principal Washington’s office. A police car had
arrived when I was in the restroom trying to clean chocolate pudding from
my shirt. I needed to soak it in cold water, but all I could do was daub
it with paper towels, which didn’t work at all. There were brown smudges
all over the front. Mother was going to be pissed. Dick was brought out
in handcuffs. One of the policemen looked at me and shook his head.
“You could’ve hit something better than a psycho,” he said. He seemed familiar, but I couldn’t be sure. I’d never had any run-ins with North Park police, but maybe they’d received something from Seattle to be on their guard against psycho Geoff Johnson.
“In here, Geoff,” Vice-Principal Washington said. He closed the door behind me. “Have a seat.”
The paddle was in the corner. It looked like an oar for a rowboat, with holes drilled in the face to reduce wind resistance. Maybe I was going to get a good talking to before getting a couple swats. Swats from Vice-Principal Washington were famous at North Park. My older brother, Karl, received a total of six, but he’s always been a hard-headed, stubborn bastard.
“I’m worried about you, Geoff. You let people walk all over you. I realize Mr. Connor is exceptional, but you could have done something to prevent the attack. Have you ever considered taking a self-defense class?”
“I’m not a fighter.”
“I’m not asking you to fight. I want you to learn how to defend yourself. I know you’re seeing Dr. Timothy Randall for your problems, so I’m going to talk to him about getting you into something like jujitsu, karate, or something like that. I think the mental aspects of the Eastern martial arts will help you, too. Geoff, you’re a good kid. I think we need to help you. Okay?”
“Sure, I guess.”
“Good, now I think it’s best you went home. Maybe we’ll have a better day tomorrow.”
He offered his hand and I shook it, trying to remember not to give him the dead fish my father always complained about.