It took him a little less than an hour to get out to Ange’s. The bus stopped at the end of his friend’s street, a couple blocks’ walk, and the ride itself was only fifteen minutes or so. But he missed the 1:30 bus by seconds—he came down the stairs just in time to see it pull away from the stop, and running across the parking lot didn’t catch the driver’s attention.
At the curb he stopped, wheezing, as the bus took the next turn and left him behind. So he had to wait another fifteen minutes or so, kicking stones out into the street and trying to catch his breath, and muttering to himself every now and then about what a jackass Lamar could be. It was his fault that Stacy missed the bus. Once he figured out it was Ange on the other end of the line, he grew sullen and mean, simmering in the
