In The Middle Of The Day
Theresa tells us later that he spouted first from the book of Ruth and then let loose with a sea of Proverbs that gushed from his grey-whiskered mouth and flooded the bar surface, sounding off vacant tabletops and the greasy glass of the "Lethal Weapon" pinball machine. Theresa polished mugs all the while. Once, briefly, his eyes gleamed with recognition for this our earthly plane and he asked where she got her butterfly tattoo. He traced its shape in the air with his pinky.
"A parlor in Memphis."
But he was off again, full-tilt revelry, the pocked lunar landscape of his forehead rippling as he gesticulated. He drank until two and he paid for his Beam in dimes and for a long while Theresa watched out the window as he lectured passerby, the hard sun, his own shadow on Union Street.