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“Parking lot looks kinda full,” Ralph said, as we approached Bubba’s.
“I am not parking in the overflow,” I said. Maybe if I’d mentioned we’d discovered a dead body this morning, Roger would have picked another spot. My fingers tapped the steering wheel fit to wear little divots in it. I wondered what the rental place would say if I returned their economy car with a bumpy, race car driver styled steering wheel.
“Fine, fine. Bite my head off.”
We were stuck on the highway just in front of the entrance, thanks to some parking dysfunction ahead. Ralph rolled his window down to lean out and watch the smoke rolling skyward from somewhere near the back of the restaurant. “Smells good,” he said. “Unless, of course, you’re an asthmatic vegetarian living downwind.”
A horn beeped in front of
