couldn't see myself doing what I'd have to do.
"_Why, you 're crazy, man!" I thought. "YOU'RE going to kill someone? YOU'RE going to kill a couple of people? Not you, felia. It just am 'tin you_."
I got about half way home, and then I jerked the wheel to the right and headed for town. I'd hardly eaten anything for the last three-four days. Maybe that was what was making me so shaky and nervous. Maybe things would look different to me with a good meal under my belt.
I toured around the business section for a few minutes, trying to think of something I wanted to eat and some decent place to eat in. I finally wound up at the same old joint I usually ate in-a little combination bar and grill around the corner from the store.
I sat down in a booth, and the waitress shoved a menu in front of me. There wasn't anything on it that sounded good, and anyway, one look at her and my stomach had turned flipf lops. I don't know why it is, by God, but I can tell you how it is. Every goddamned restaurant I go to, it's always the same way.. – They'll have some old bag on the payroll-I figure they keep her locked up in the mop closet until they see me coming. And they'll doll her up in the dirtiest goddamned apron they can find and smear that crappy red polish all over her fingernails, and everything about her is smeary and sloppy and smelly. And she's the dame that always waits on me.
I'm not kidding, brother. It's that way wherever I go.
I told her to bring me a shot and a bottle of beer; I'd settle on something to eat later. But she was one of these salesmen, you know. She hung around, recommending "good things," the day's specials and so on; pointing 'em out with those goddamned red claws. So I put up with it just as long as I could, and then I gave her the old eye and told her off.
"Maybe you didn't hear me, sister," I said. "Maybe I better have the manager bring me that shot and the beer."
"B-but-" She looked like I'd hit her in the face, and it was just about as red as if I had. "I'm sorry, sir. I was i-just trying to-"
"And I'm trying to get a drink," I said. "Now, do I get it or not?"
I got it fast. But the next round I ordered, another girl brought it to me. Not that it made any difference, because she was just as bad as the first one; they all were; they always are. They may be okay up until then, but the minute I step in through the door of a place it's let's get sloppy, girls, here comes Dolly. The poor bastard ain't got enough trouble, so let's make him sick at his stomach.
I know how they do. They can't kid me a damned bit.
Well, anyway. I finished the first set-up and started on the second. I was sitting there sipping beer, thinking and trying not to think, when a shadow fell across the table.
"Ah, Frank"-Staples' lisping, oily voice. "So you are here, aren't you?"
I gave a little jump, and he grinned and sat down across from me. I asked him what he meant by that so-I-was-here stuff.
"A little bet I had with myself. I-Oh, thank you, miss. A bowl of your delicious soup, if you please, and a tall glass of milk.. – As I was saying, Frank. I worked rather late at the store tonight, a special inventory, and afterwards I found myself in the mood for a prebedtime snack. But I do so hate to eat alone, you know; I'd almost rather do without. And just on the offchance that I might encounter some dear friend, I-Not you, of course. I had no idea that you would be eating out tonight…"
"This looks like I'm eating?" I said. "The wife had some girl friends in tonight so I got out of her way."
"How thoughtful of you. And how thoughtless of her; to entertain on your first night at home… Are you and the little woman getting along all right, Frank? You haven't quarreled?"
"Sorry to disappoint you," I said. "Now what's the pitch on this bet you made with yourself?"
"Oh, yes." He spooned soup into his pussy-cat mouth. "As I say, I was hoping to find someone to break bread with, and just on the offchance that you or one of
"_Why, you 're crazy, man!" I thought. "YOU'RE going to kill someone? YOU'RE going to kill a couple of people? Not you, felia. It just am 'tin you_."
I got about half way home, and then I jerked the wheel to the right and headed for town. I'd hardly eaten anything for the last three-four days. Maybe that was what was making me so shaky and nervous. Maybe things would look different to me with a good meal under my belt.
I toured around the business section for a few minutes, trying to think of something I wanted to eat and some decent place to eat in. I finally wound up at the same old joint I usually ate in-a little combination bar and grill around the corner from the store.
I sat down in a booth, and the waitress shoved a menu in front of me. There wasn't anything on it that sounded good, and anyway, one look at her and my stomach had turned flipf lops. I don't know why it is, by God, but I can tell you how it is. Every goddamned restaurant I go to, it's always the same way.. – They'll have some old bag on the payroll-I figure they keep her locked up in the mop closet until they see me coming. And they'll doll her up in the dirtiest goddamned apron they can find and smear that crappy red polish all over her fingernails, and everything about her is smeary and sloppy and smelly. And she's the dame that always waits on me.
I'm not kidding, brother. It's that way wherever I go.
I told her to bring me a shot and a bottle of beer; I'd settle on something to eat later. But she was one of these salesmen, you know. She hung around, recommending "good things," the day's specials and so on; pointing 'em out with those goddamned red claws. So I put up with it just as long as I could, and then I gave her the old eye and told her off.
"Maybe you didn't hear me, sister," I said. "Maybe I better have the manager bring me that shot and the beer."
"B-but-" She looked like I'd hit her in the face, and it was just about as red as if I had. "I'm sorry, sir. I was i-just trying to-"
"And I'm trying to get a drink," I said. "Now, do I get it or not?"
I got it fast. But the next round I ordered, another girl brought it to me. Not that it made any difference, because she was just as bad as the first one; they all were; they always are. They may be okay up until then, but the minute I step in through the door of a place it's let's get sloppy, girls, here comes Dolly. The poor bastard ain't got enough trouble, so let's make him sick at his stomach.
I know how they do. They can't kid me a damned bit.
Well, anyway. I finished the first set-up and started on the second. I was sitting there sipping beer, thinking and trying not to think, when a shadow fell across the table.
"Ah, Frank"-Staples' lisping, oily voice. "So you are here, aren't you?"
I gave a little jump, and he grinned and sat down across from me. I asked him what he meant by that so-I-was-here stuff.
"A little bet I had with myself. I-Oh, thank you, miss. A bowl of your delicious soup, if you please, and a tall glass of milk.. – As I was saying, Frank. I worked rather late at the store tonight, a special inventory, and afterwards I found myself in the mood for a prebedtime snack. But I do so hate to eat alone, you know; I'd almost rather do without. And just on the offchance that I might encounter some dear friend, I-Not you, of course. I had no idea that you would be eating out tonight…"
"This looks like I'm eating?" I said. "The wife had some girl friends in tonight so I got out of her way."
"How thoughtful of you. And how thoughtless of her; to entertain on your first night at home… Are you and the little woman getting along all right, Frank? You haven't quarreled?"
"Sorry to disappoint you," I said. "Now what's the pitch on this bet you made with yourself?"
"Oh, yes." He spooned soup into his pussy-cat mouth. "As I say, I was hoping to find someone to break bread with, and just on the offchance that you or one of
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