 In Havre
I get off to buy a sixer from Oxford Sports--my usual stop and purchase.
The barmaid puts down her paper and swings around to other side of counter,
unfolds a cardboard holder and fills it with longnecks from the see-thru
fridge. A man walks up to a woman at the bar, announcing that Donna's changed
her number and no one would answer the door when he brought the pullups over.
He left them on the porch. He saw the curtains drawn. "Just tell her this,"
he insists, "she has to talk to me or I'm taking her to court. I should be
able to see my child on Halloween and birthdays. I'm 43...." I walked past
the gambling lounge, leather couches, shoeshine stand, Ms. Pacman, clutching
my brown bag, out the back door. Outside it's grey. People smoke on the platform.
Back aboard, they announce alcohol is forbidden in coach but allowed in sleeper
cars. I'll just have to be careful, keep an eye out for conductors, avoid
spilling, and gulp it in large mouthfuls before it gets warm. |
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