He looked at me and broke out into a gap-toothed grin. “Bubba! How you been, boy?” He must have been on a good run if he was going to pretend like we didn’t hate each other. I was the one that knocked out his front tooth when we were kids playing football, and I broke his nose a few years ago when he made an unkind remark about Skeeter. For his part, Billy Wayne had broken my arm when we were ten and playing Ric Flair and Dusty Rhodes, and his sister gave me a nasty case of the clap in high school. I’m not sure which one of us was more pissed off about that last incident. But there wasn’t much love lost between the two of us, so if he wanted to give me a hug it was either because he was having a good week at the tables, or he wanted to pick my pocket.
I pounded fists with him instead, and
