“… Bun pays Byron a coupla grand to mis-shoe somebody else's pony.” I stuck my spoon in my peppery soup. “Why would he do that?” “This pony belongs to another customer of mine, Charlie Bun's top rival in the racing biz.
I remember those long minutes, sitting between some Olsons and Hansons, and fixing my mind on the only thing I'd come for: a thin slice of tender Swedish lefsa bread, generously buttered and rolled tight with brown sugar into a soft cylinder of Nordic indulgence.
'Sorra a friend I have - sorra a friend, Masther Richard; and I did not spake to the priest this year or more, and I darn't go near him,' said the poor Palmerstown lass that was once so merry.
The level of awkwardness in the room went from 0 to 100 real quick.
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DiQt
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★★★★★★★★★★
