5
“That guy.”
“That guy?”
“That guy.”
Deuce nodded to the man in the corner of Nate’s Place. The man’s hair receded like Lake Mead in a drought. The bad dye job was twenty years into an unending mid-life crisis. He was wearing a letterman’s jacket for Miller High Life. Under it, a red polo shirt and khaki pants. He was singing along to every single song that came on the jukebox.
Every. Single. Song.
At the top of his lungs.
“That guy?”
“Yeah, for f**k’s sake, Leo, that guy,” Deuce said.
Ray Cobb made a conscious effort to respond to the name “Leo.” He took a deep breath in.
“What’s his drink?”
“Jack and RC Cola with a splash of orange juice.”
“f**k off.”
“I told you he was weird. They stock RC here for him special,” Deuce said.
“Seriously, stop f*****g with me. Not in the moo
