Anyway, apparently I’ve addicted dozens of my neighborhood peers to beer, and, like all diehard addicts, they’re building tolerances that require increased consumption. Over the past two weeks, small pods of high school drunks have been gathering outside of Huey’s, hoping to place orders with me. Sometimes I’ll even see a group of rich kids from Blaine Heights hanging out, and they come up to me like we’re all best friends, offering to pay double what my locals pay. But I can’t stand those rich bastards, so I just say, “No way, dudes, hop in your BMWs and go back to the Heights and raid Daddy’s wine cellar.” And then they get all desperate and start begging like little street children in Calcutta.

It’s hard being the local bootlegger. I’m starting to feel like a marked man every time I take the trash out. If the masses revolt, I’m history.

3. All my parents do lately is fight, fight, and fight.

There’s an argument every night, and it’s always Mom yelling at Dad about money and how much he smokes and drinks.

Hey, Dad, here’s some breaking news: if you want to stay married, treat Mom like she’s your wife rather than your house servant. I mean, when the summer began, she was all nice to me about it, telling me to make sure I stick with football for him and all that. But now … man, she’s done being nice, and I don’t blame her. I don’t even want to go home at night anymore because of all the shouting.

4. I can’t break the news to Huey Dawkins about Big Dale’s photos of Helen, because all Huey does now is walk around the store drunk.

Okay, this is the one that’s freaking me out the most. I think a husband has the right to know if his wife’s sneaking around on him with an immoral child-abusing cop. But I won’t tell Huey unless I’m lucky enough to find him semi-sober, and lately that’s like trying to find a polar bear in Brazil.

————

So that’s the kind of stuff running through my head when I arrive to work one day to find, big surprise, Huey hammered. And I mean he’s blitzed beyond belief. He won’t move from the stool behind the register, just keeps mumbling things and laughing. I’m having trouble understanding him, but I decipher enough to realize that he wants me to clean the top of the cooler between rushes. Damn. The one job Brandon warned me about. Looking around the store, I notice the two carts overflowing with empties, so I push them to the back room, happy to get away from Huey for a while.