“Delivery for Frank?” he mumbled, not making eye contact.
I snatched the bag. “You know, back in my day, we looked people in the eye when we did a job.”
He blinked, looking up. His eyes were tired. Red-rimmed. “Sorry, sir. Just a long shift. Enjoy the burger.”
I didn’t tip him. I told myself it was because of the attitude, but really, it was just the sight of him. He looked like a caricature of everything I heard on the talk radio stations. Soft. Unfocused. Drifting.
I ate my burger alone in the silence of a four-bedroom house that used to be full of noise.
The next morning, the sky opened up. It was a cold, miserable rain, the kind that gets into your bones and stays there. I had a cardiologist appointment across town in forty minutes.
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