"Hey, Les, what's up?"

"There you are -- thought you got lost."

"No, that avenue to the southside was closed for Harbor Spring 10K Run, and I couldn't get across for awhile. Garlic Man was probably running in it. I know the Passage well from spending more than a couple of hours here."

"Yeah, tell me about the time you lost your boots on that bet! OK, rack 'em up. Let me get us a pitcher."


"What have I got -- low balls?" said Les returning to the table, and continuing, "when I first arrived and was standing at the bar to order, that old guy was going on about how he could've waited 'till Thursday and sold the Stock for even more, but you never know on these big momentum 'gaps' he called them ... the stock could easily give back a 20% drop the next morning, and he took his money while he could. I wonder how much he did make on that trade."

"This town is full of these widowers and retired couples, isn't it? What an easy life, eh? -- and we have to hustle our butts every day. Eleven ball in the side" .... Plop.


"Fourteen, in the corner" .... Plop. "Eight ball in the other corner."

"Say, d'ya know of rooms to rent near you? -- we've got to move from that rooming house down the street. It's become intolerable."