Herb looked at his wristwatch, walked over to the mini-fridge, grabbed a couple of sodas, and handed one to me. “Here. We’re off the clock.”
“Do you have any Ibuprofen …?” Herb gave me a blank look. “Uh, I mean aspirin?” I took the can and opened it while Herb went to the medicine cabinet.
I took the aspirin with a sip of soda. “My problem is pretty dumb.”
“And your generation thinks it invented dumb problems. Actually my generation did.” We both laughed, and I told him about Saturday’s Catherine/Tammy/Brad fiasco and the Carbondale Jail experience.
“I take it that getting drunk and being thrown in the jug isn’t the primary problem,” said Herb.
“The primary problem is Tammy. There’s no question in my mind that she’s bad for me, and Catherine is the one I should be around, but
