Jordy
The three Stooges stand around the Camaro, stuffing their faces with burgers. It’s barely 11 a.m. The grey-haired guy, Parker, waited with me while the other two lined up at the door until an employee let them in. They returned with enough bags to feed an entire pack.
The dark-haired one, Declan, turns to me and says something with his mouth full.
“Pardon?” I ask.
“He asked if you wanted a burger,” Parker says between bites of his own sandwich.
I decline, still hugging the coloring book to my chest. I can’t help keeping an eye on the road, hoping Grizz will come motoring back on his bike.
Declan swallows a bite. “I know what ya are.”
I turn back to him and blink at his pointed finger.
“Wee, sleekit, cowran, tim’rous beastie.”
“Declan,” Parker sighs.
“That’s a poem,” says th
