I ... uh...” He cleared his throat. “I think you’re gonna need every advantage you can get, and you need to go soon. This whole town is gonna be...lit up with Lookie Lous, and I want you out of here before dawn.”“Yes, sir.” Darren pocketed the key.“Also...” Walters swallowed, his eyes on the fire. “There’s a bag with the bike, some of my son’s things. I don’t want them, so feel free to help yourself.”“Your son’s things?”“From the war. They couldn’t bring his body back, but a squad-mate of his. My thoughts sort of freeze up on me sometimes, like some of those chat boxes on the internet.He gestured slightly with the cigar at the yellow legal pad in my lap, "Write these down. Juices, we already said that one. And add 'dancing.'" Dancing," I mumbled as I wrote."No more 'dancing eyes,' or 'our tongues danced together this and that' shit."Sounds like a fucking tango going on in their mouths."And milking! God, I hate that one! If I read that she 'milked every drop' one more time I'm gonna. More

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