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Show Car Baseball Butch and Fenn Stories 56 and then I'm surprised as I shift my weight to see my shoes move forward, out onto the street. I feel exactly like someone else, someone I don't know and don't like very much. When I move into our line beside Fenn, all I hear myself say is: "Fenn and Butch - you bastards." Just as I realize there is a rock in my throwing hand, I see that my other hand is full too. "Do we get a couple of throws to warm up?" Butch says and Parley laughs. Over our heads Old Man Wilkes' garage drifts as a gray rash of smoke; the whole world is doom. Chambers suddenly runs out to the edge of the field, thirty feet from Parley, and he stands there dancing like a boxer. The rock in his right hand is the size of a coffee cup. "Parley!" "Yeah, Chambers." "You're a fucking asshole and you smell like shit!" "Is that it?" Parley sounds bored. "You're a pussy, Fuckhead!" Parley stands, one hand in a pocket, his feet spread, his head cocked over. He looks at Chambers with nothing but flat curiosity. "Well?" Chambers yells. "What do you think of that Parley Fuckhead?" "I hate to kill you for that trite shit." This sets Chambers off and he runs clear back to Tabish's alley, spitting and tearing at the shirts of the members of his |