“Well whose is it Herfy?”
“It belongs to Lester. I’m just caretaker while he’s abroad, the lucky dog.” Stan started peeling off his clothes letting them drop in a pile about his feet. “Gee I’d like to go swimming.... Why the hell do people live in cities?”
“Why do I go on dragging out a miserable existence in this crazy epileptic town ... that’s what I want to know.”
“Lead on Horatius, to the baawth slave,” bellowed Stan who stood on top of his pile of clothes, brown with tight rounded muscles, swaying a little from his drunkenness.
“It’s right through that door.” Jimmy pulled a towel out of the steamertrunk in the corner of the room, threw it after him and went back to reading.
Stan tumbled back into the room, dripping, talking through the towel. “What do you think, I forgot to take my hat off. And look Herfy, there’s something I want you to do for me. Do you mind?”
“Of course not. What is it?”
“Will you let me use your back room tonight, this room?”
“Sure you can.”
“I mean with somebody.”