Fine, I thought. Pay two hundred for those. I can get a set on Queen Street for thirty bucks.
The auctioneer turned to me. "The bidding stands at two. Will you say two-ten, sir?"
I shook my head. The auctioneer paused a long moment, letting me sweat over the decision to bow out.
"I have two — do I have any other bids from the floor? Any other bids? Sold, $200, to number 57." An attendant brought Craphound the glasses. He took them and tucked them under his seat.
#
I was fuming when we left. Craphound was at my elbow. I wanted to punch him —
I'd never punched anyone in my life, but I wanted to punch him.
We entered the cool night air and I sucked in several lungfuls before lighting a cigarette.
"Jerry," Craphound said.
I stopped, but didn't look at him. I watched the taxis pull in and out of the garage next door instead.
"Jerry, my friend," Craphound said.