Right in front of his eyes the screen changed from baseball to motocross, almost like there was a glitch in the satellite feed.
When his eyes lowered he saw the young bartender holding the remote.
Ethan? Evan.
Evan gave him this sorry dude combo look and shrug, cocking his head toward the young tattooed guys lining the north end of the seats at Candy’s Lounge.
They immediately became animated at the bikes soaring over the dirt hills in a stadium he felt like he almost recognized. Certainly wasn’t Detroit, but…
Splint gave Evan a no big deal look, even though he wasn’t ecstatic that the channel got changed in the middle of a left-handed windup in a three-run ballgame with runners on.
Splint downed his beer, blew a two-fingered kiss at the photo of his brother in action on the wall-Splint always did that-and he walked out the door.
Evan later-duded Splint and Splint waved behind his head to be polite. Candy’s daughter Adrienne, who worked nights, knew his name, and he’d probably be dead before she retired or sold.
It was sunny, and the sun reminded him of his brother’s disposition. Splint was glad they kept the picture of his brother on the wall, not just because he got to see it, but because Al would be honored, even shocked it was there. Al would have said “You believe that? Me?
The rest of the guys in frames were all ballplayers and firefighters who had been regulars.
They used to say if Al had been Irish he would have been the Mayor of Corktown.
***.
Katrina Almore was vaping outside Taupe-The Experience, the salon she opened in a former pool hall on Trumbull, when she first saw the men placing bags of clothes in the old school bus and fanning out around the area.
A cop was guarding the intersection of Porter and Trumbull, where an ad agency was shooting a mayonnaise commercial.
Katrina wandered over and asked the cop what was going on with the school bus full of old men.
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