9
LAST RESORT
DAY TWO (Part Two): Still Tuesday.
Yee Haw.
“How many nights?”
“Eternity.”
Oh wait, that’s my subconscious talking.
“One,” Dad says.
“I reckon you want two keys?” the motel clerk grumbles.
What’s his problem? Did a hoarder convention wipe them out?
“Uh … yah,” I snottily retort.
Dad doesn’t even scold me for that one. We just got here and he’s already had a gut full of this guy … who’s evidently had a gut full of everything consumable within a fifty-mile radius. Seriously, pregnant women have less of a bulge. What’s weird—or rather, “weirder,” since there are so many weird things about him—is that he’s not massive all over. But damn, that is one honkin’ beer belly (or “Milwaukee Tumor,” as Grandma would call it). I dare say he could even give the Buddha a run for h
