Nicky Rattle twisted his lucky scratchin’ quarter in his hand, his hand jammed in his pocket.
Decided that wasn’t such a great idea walking past a park where kids played.
Saw Abrutti sitting on one of the softball benches, by himself.
“Yo, Abrutti, wanna get lunch?”
Abrutti shrugged his shoulders.
Nicky walked over.
“You just shrug your shoulders? I’m tryin’ to buy you lunch. If you already ate, or ain’t hungry, just say no. That’s an answer. Shrugging your shoulders ain’t an answer.”
“Why you wanna buy me lunch?”
Nicky smiled, laughed his laugh that always turned into a smoker’s cough.
“Hit two hunnerd bucks on a ten-dollar scratcher my uncle got me for my birthday.”
Abrutti nodded. “Where ya goin’ for lunch?”
“Rita’s. It’s Friday, I love the clam chowder. I could just eat two bowls of clam chowder and some of that bread they make.”
Abrutti scowled like he had just discovered he had a toothache.
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