Chapter 6

Ashok flashed a facetious grin. “Top of her class in Mom School,” he said.

Danny chuckled, but shored up his observation. “I don’t know,” he said, “your mom doesn’t seem real big on the gratuitous compliment. If you were goofy-lookin’, she probably would have said so.”

“A fine saleswoman that would make her,” Ashok said.

“Don’t worry,” Danny said. “You don’t exactly look like the Clearance Rack.”

Ashok laughed. “You old honey dripper. What are you, a poet in your spare time?”

“You recognize my work?” Danny teased.

“It stands out,” Ashok said.

A willowy, bearded hipster sidled up to their table with a paper cone of bread sticks and a non-committal “Good evening, gentlemen.” Water glasses were filled, generic restaurant formalities dispensed with, and shortly wine was procured. They had agreed on sweet and white to suit the gold-imbued sunset hour, and locked eyes when they raised their glasses.