The bus hissed and whined at the Clark stop, sounding to George Abbott like the hydraulic line was about to rupture.
Driver wouldn’t listen even if he said something.
Tuddle got off behind George, grunting like he did whenever he moved.
Tuddle lit a cigarette before his left foot had left the step of the bus.
“Craylo and the no smoking in his house now. Ruined cards. Ain’t the same.”
George turned back a bit, a slight over-the-shoulder look, not wishing to give full attention to Tuddle and his complaints.
“F’you married who he married, you’d let her make the rules too.”
“Cradle robber. Pussy whipped.”
George rolled his eyes, thought about keeping his mouth shut, couldn’t.
“She’s forty-two, Tudds, they don’t make cradles for forty-two-year-olds.”
The smoke smelled good to George. He definitely wouldn’t say that to Tuddle. They walked past the check-cashing place, then the vacant storefront next to it, George dumping half a tin of breath mints into his mouth, cinnamon, the thing he always did when smoking seemed like a good idea.
Past the vacant storefront was Hamper’s.
Tuddle looked at the crumbling cardboard sign, taped to the window with tape that was so old it was golden. The sign read “Best Burgers in Town” and damned if that wasn’t true.
Tuddle was hungry, even though he had eaten the bulk of the cheese corn and pretzels at cards in Craylo’s basement.
He was just wishing they could go into Hamper’s when the door swung open.
George jumped and backpedaled, knocking the hots from Tuddle’s cigarette.