With a paradoxically languid and unfocused acuity, Pieter now unfolded himself and hailed Tug.
“Hey, Ginger Ale.”
Pieter, in his perfect, nearly accentless yet still oddly alien English, was the only person who ever called Tug Gingerella by that nickname. The Dikelander seemed to derive immense absurdist humour from it.
“Hey, Pete. What’s new?”
“I have almost gotten ‘Radar Love’ down. Apex of Dikelander hillbilly-skiffle music. Wanna hear?”
Pieter drew a pendant ocarina from beneath his work vest and began to raise it to his lips.
“Naw, Pete, I’m just not in the mood right now.”
“How is that?”
Tug explained all his troubles, starting with his eviction and culminating in his dismissal from the Little Theatre.
Pieter seemed truly moved. “Aw, man, that sucks so bad. Listen, we approa
