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Show Flying - 169 as the ball rolls down towards him, "but you can always make it curve a little, enough to keep it out of the hole and get it to the flippers almost every time," he says flicking it back up with one neatly timed stab at the red button. "All in the rhythm," says Thompson throwing a gentle hip into the machine and steadying it with a knee on the other side. "There's just enough looseness in every machine to let a good player score," he says to the fat man. The ball finally manages to elude hin and slip down the hole, and he stops to sip at his beer before shooting the next one up into the works. "We'd best be moving out," says O'Connell coming over. "It's after eleven and we got to be back by three with the parts." "That's a hundred and two free games," says the bartender, and he gives Thompson a five dollar bill and a dime. "What's the money for?" says John Henry when they get outside. "Nickel for every free game," says O'Connell. "You don't think he was playing for fun, do you?" Headed once more for Camp Roberts, Thompson at the wheel, shooting along a black-top road between misty mountains, following the moral curve of the universe. Here I am, playing it Just for fun. Wandering through this fine California morning without particular aim or conscious |