Finally, Donnie cleared his throat. “Maybe we ought not to hang out here all day. How ‘bout we drive up to Lake Martin?”
Archie harrumphed. “Colder’n a well digger’s ass out there.”
“Breezy, too,” said Wilson. He shivered.
“We ain’t gotta get out in no dang boat,” said Donnie. “I know a catfish place up there on the western finger we can go to.”
“I know that place,” Archie said. “They don’t serve beer on Sunday, though.”
“Don’t know as I mind that,” said Wilson. He belched quietly though stubby fingers. “I feel like I’m gonna toss my cookies, and another half dozen beers might just help that along.”
“It was all that fried okra you ate last night,” said Noxanne. “And that big ol’ breakfast this morning didn’t help none.” She was about to turn and offer a consoling hug when he stepped back to expel another pungent belch.
Archie peered to the bar. “You going, too, Sam?”
He glanced their way and sniffed. “Nah.”
Noxanne strode halfway to the bar and punched stubby fists into her hips. “Yes you are, too, Sam Witherspoon.”
“Yeah,” Wilson and Archie said in unison.
“Okay, then,” said Donnie, “it’s been decided. We’ll swing by and pick up Lu if you want to.”
Sam grunted, and for a long moment he didn’t move. Then he sighed, rose, and pulled on his jacket.
“Hot dog!” said Archie. “Good for you, Sam, get you out of that rut.”
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