15
Ralph wasn’t really a kid. He had to be in his late twenties, maybe five years younger than Dale, with the kind of lean body that Dale had always coveted but never had. That body slumped in one of the folding chairs right next to the presentation table at the front of the room, studying the back of his hand as if trying to memorize the shape of his fingernails. Despite being at a convention after seven PM on a Friday night, he wore a dapper linen jacket over a white neckless shirt and sharply creased pants. He looked dressed to impress the sort of people who didn’t show up at these conventions.
Dale slipped between clusters of conversation, trying to suck in his gut and shoulders to make himself smaller so he could squeeze behind people immersed in one another. He always felt clumsy i
