In 23 years and nine days of living, Hutchinson Praetner had never been so eager and so honest at the same time.
He needed a job, he told the man. He was willing to do anything. Anything at all.
He was confident too, that this man sitting across from him at this desk was going to give him a job.
When the man, this downstater, leaned forward and smiled, Hutch got a Nana’s-potato chowder-warmed-up-on-the-second-day-perfect feeling in his stomach.
The man said “If you can start today…” and Hutch interrupted, babbling, yes, he could start today and work 48 hours straight if needed, yes, sir– even though the man had told him twice it wasn’t necessary to call him sir, because he was just Lyle.
Lyle laughed and said, “c’mon, follow me, you’re gonna love this, Hutch,” and Hutch believed he was gonna love whatever the hell it was because he owed Tory Mizler twelve hundred bucks.
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