Wilbur bit down on the BLT, the smoky, apple flavor of the bacon washed over his palette and his molar snapped. He ran his tongue over the jagged edge and extracted the broken snag from his mouth.
He glanced around the crowded lunch group at the Twentynine Palms Inn, but everyone at his table was too busy talking about the latest removal of the City Manager without any reason. The other people packed into the small space were either toney tourists or locals meeting for lunch to be seen or to look at the new artwork hanging on the walls. Wilbur slipped the tooth into his shirt pocket behind the eyeglass case. Maybe his dentist would want to see it.
He called his dentist as soon as he was back in his office. “Does it hurt,” was the question that greeted his request for an appointment.
“No
