Leo leaned forward to try to see GP through the window slot, but all he saw was sweating Sidney flipping something in the smoke. The jukebox played a Beatles song called “Help” from their movie. Leo thought it sounded all right, not bad, but so dry somehow, like those four guys had only half a body of blood in them. He wondered why there wasn’t ever any real blues in those boxes, not Elvis or Carl Perkins, but more like Lightning Hopkins, Champion Jack Dupree, and one of the kings with the Harp of the Blues, Junior Wells. Just then Gerry sat down on the stool between Leo and the cash register. He was sweating so much his white shirt stuck to him in wet spots on his chest and stomach. He took off his UFO cap and wiped his forehead with it. “Didn’t see you at the big grad.”

“We went.”

“We?” Gerry tucked in his chin and rolled his eyes. “You mean you and Miss Groovy over there, without one–count ’em folks–one powwow with yours truly.”

“Sorry, GP. Long days.”

“Long nights?”

Leo looked over his shoulder at Allie wiping down a booth table in front of three boys, her ponytail jerking and rolling across her back. He looked back at Gerry. “You hear about Mansfield?”

“Yeah, I think she gave a little too much head playing that one.” Gerry laughed enough for both of them. He reached over and took a long swallow of Leo’s Coke. “You got a sunburn.”

“I’m a working man, GP.”

“‘Yeah? Let’s see your hands.”

Leo held them out, palms up.

“You ain’t workin’.” Gerry turned his hand over in his lap. There was a long red line on the skin of his forearm from his wrist to his elbow. “French fry basket. Gets dangerous in there, pal.”

“Try building a house.”

Gerry stifled a belch, which he never did. “You get anything in the mail lately?”

“No, have you?”

Gerry nodded. He was looking down at his Coke glass and he turned it in a slow circle with his fingers, keeping his hands still. “I got my notice.” He glanced at Leo. “My old man opened it before I did. He had tears in his eyes. Can you believe that shit? My pop?”

“Shit, Gerry.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Gerry spun the Coke glass a couple of times. He was looking straight ahead, nodding and squinting like he was watching something far away. “Know what I can’t stand? I’m at home, right, and I go into the kitchen for some milk and I notice the trash is full so I start to walk over to take it out to the garage, but just before I get to the bucket, Betty or my pop’ll say, ‘Hey, Ger, take out the trash,’ and man, I’m tellin’ ya, I wanna explode, because I was just about to do it on my own anyway and so then when I do do it, it’s got nothing to do with what I want to do anymore, you know? It’s highway robbery, man. Friggin’ highway robbery.”