Fine, I thought. Pay two hundred for those. I can get a set on Queen Street for
thirty bucks.
The auctioneer turned to me. "The bidding stands at two. Will you say two-ten,
sir?"
I shook my head. The auctioneer paused a long moment, letting me sweat over the
decision to bow out.
"I have two -- do I have any other bids from the floor? Any other bids? Sold,
$200, to number 57." An attendant brought Craphound the glasses. He took them
and tucked them under his seat.
#
I was fuming when we left. Craphound was at my elbow. I wanted to punch him --
I'd never punched anyone in my life, but I wanted to punch him.
We entered the cool night air and I sucked in several lungfuls before lighting a
cigarette.
"Jerry," Craphound said.
I stopped, but didn't look at him. I watched the taxis pull in and out of the
garage next door instead.
"Jerry, my friend," Craphound said.
"_What_?" I said, loud enough to startle myself. Scott, beside me, jerked as
well.
"We're going. I wanted to say goodbye, and to give you some things that I won't
be taking with me."
"What?" I said again, Scott just a beat behind me.
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