chapter thirty
I slept in the next morning since it was my day off. I was scheduled to work on Saturday. I promised Mom last week that I would come by and pick up a box of old clothes to donate to the church rummage sale. I cruised slowly down the road singing an Aerosmith tune at the top of my lungs. As I rounded the curve a half mile before my parent’s home, I spotted a familiar figure in blue jogging pants with an Irish Setter beside him. Dad and Hamlet moseyed down the road at a leisurely pace, a puff of smoke occasionally drifting past my father’s head.
I pulled up next to him and slowed to a crawl. “So, Dad, does Mom know you’re still smoking cigars?”
“ Nope and tattling on your dad insures you get nothing but coal in your stocking for the next three Christmases.” He let a circle
