One night I was coming around the corner after sneaking down to the cafeteria for a pack of smokes. And there was a face I knew.
It was Tom Moto! The guy I had subbed with under The Stone!
“Moto, you motherfuck!” I said.
“Hank!” he said.
We shook hands.
“Hey, I was thinking of you! Jonstone is retiring this month. Some of us are holding a farewell party for him. You know, he always liked to fish. We’re going to take him out in a rowboat. Maybe you’d like to come along and throw him overboard, drown him. We’ve got a nice deep lake.”
“No, shit, I just don’t even want to look at him.”
“But you’re invited.”
Moto was grinning from asshole to eyebrow. Then I looked at his shirt: a supervisor’s badge.
“Oh no, Tom.”
“Hank, I’ve got 4 kids. They need me for bread and butter.”
“All right, Tom,” I said. Then I walked off.
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