Page 38 - Leather Blues

26 Jack Fritscher

work shirt over his T-shirt, Denny refused to notice his boss
had followed him into the washroom.
“So you’re not saying hello to people today,” Mister Mar-
tin said.
Denny looked into the mirror at the man’s face over his
shoulder. “I was thinking about people who say goodbye.
People you never see again.”
“Yeah,” Martin said. “Get on out to the pumps, boy.”
Denny took his time turning out the door. Martin
thumped his ass as he passed. Denny ignored him. “Hose
down the ramps,” Martin ordered. He took off his wedding
ring to wash his hands. “We’re gonna be busy today.”
“What a big fucking thrill for you and the Arabs,”
Denny said.
“Mr. Motorcycle Big Shot,” Martin said. Only his unre-
alized lust for Denny made him take any lip Den dished out.
“Hop to it!”
Denny piddled the morning away, working wherever
Martin wasn’t. Around noon he took the station truck out
on a road service call. He changed the tire. The lady paid
him, smiled, and tipped him too much. He drove off leaving
her standing next to her car door. He was hot and hungry.
He pulled off the expressway onto the sunbaked asphalt lot
of an A&W Root Beer and chili-dog drive-in. He climbed
out of the truck. It was a fucking oven. He stripped off his
green service shirt and chucked it into the cab of the truck.
The sun heated his shoulders and pecs through his tight
T-shirt.
“Three chili-dogs with everything and a large beer,” he
said.
The high-school boy behind the counter looked out from
behind his acne at the kind of guy he’d like to be.
“Yessir,” he said.
“That enough for you?” The voice that spoke to Den
came from down the counter. A business type smiled at him

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