He didn't argue.
It was cold and bitter. All beer is bitter, no matter what they say on TV. I like beer. I like the bitterness of it.
It felt like another, but I checked myself. I needed a clear head. I thought about going back to the hotel for some sleep; I still had the key in my pocket (I wasn't trusting it to any clerk). No, I had had sleep on Thanksgiving, bracing up for trying the lift at Brother Partridge's. Let's see, it was daylight outside again, so this was the day after Thanksgiving. But it had only been sixteen or twenty hours since I had slept. That was enough.
I left the money on the counter for the hamburgers and coffee and the beer. There was $7.68 left.
As I passed the counterman's friend on his stool, my voice said, "I think you're yellow."
He turned slowly, his jaw moving further away from his brain.
I winked. "It was just a bet for me to say that to you. I won two bucks. Half of it is yours." I held out the bill to him.
His paw closed over the money and punched me on the biceps. Too hard. He winked back. "It's okay."
I rubbed my shoulder, marching off fast, and I counted my money. With my luck, I might have given the counterman's friend the five instead of one of the singles. But I hadn't. I now had $6.68 left.
"I still think you're yellow," my voice said.