Tin Fork
“He struck oil several times. Trouble was, there was always salt water with it.”
“Hey, I’m sorry for what your country suffered in the tsunami. Do you have relatives there?”
“It became a catering business. Soon, she couldn’t fit it all into our kitchen.”
“Uh-oh. Look outside, man,” says Hank. “Is there a back door? The place is surrounded by cops.”
Hank lunges into his salad. “Oh, God,” he says. “I’ve got yours. Greek, right?”
“I can afford it every day because I’m not married. Most of the guys have families. They can’t come as often as me.”
“The Thai believe that in a time of weather, seasonal changes make a person vulnerable.”
This is weird. Last year I was sitting right here in this ancient Wild West shack in Old Town, in the selfsame squiggly wrought-iron seat, drooling over English tea and crumpets, waiting on dusk for …
Mike comes out and sits down. “This program works,” he says. “Eighty percent of our guys who graduate are in a job and sober and off the streets a year later. It’s definitely worth it.”