Skinny hobbled into the Tin Man’s at about 11:50. He had ditched the crutches for a cane. He gave me a little smile and a tip of the head.
I was delighted to see another small break in his armor. I stood and gave him a knuckle tap. “How’s the ankle?” I asked.
“Chillin,” he said.
“Skin,” I said, “this is my partner, Ned. Ned, Skin.”
They guardedly shook hands. Ned wasn’t a knuckle guy and Skin wasn’t a shaker; awkward.
“You up for a nice beefy hotdog down at the Costco?” I asked Skin.
Skinny looked around and seemingly finding he wasn’t the center of attention, he shrugged his shoulders and gestured. “After you, old man,” he said. Continue reading