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Show 372 would have remained there, his arms locked around his shins, his head resting on his knees while they picked him up and tipped him into the back of a police car and groped for his fingernails at the station house. She got out and ran over to him. Her white tennis shoes flashed in the moonlight. "What are you doing here?" "Starving to death. Why?" He kept watching her tennis shoes. "Lorin, you're going to get me in trouble." "I'm sorry," he said. "I haven't eaten all day. I hope you don't think I like doing this." She stood over him for nearly a minute while he stared at her knees. They were nicely silhouetted against the grey moonwashed driveway behind her. "Lorin, if I brought you a sandwich could you stay in your car again tonight?" "I ran out of gas about a mile from here," he said. "I'll make you a sandwich. Wait right here." She was back out in a few minutes. He heard the door click shut behind her. "Thank God Floyd's asleep. I was afraid he'd hear me and I don't know how I would have explained this." Something white floated in front of his eyes and he took it. "Thank you," he said after his second bite. It was chicken salad. "Don't gobble," she said. "It'll tie your stomach in knots." The sandwich was gone in six bites. He counted them. "Lorin," she said. "What." "If I lent you some money could you put gas in your car and go somewhere?" He felt his penis shrivel. He had been afraid it would. "I can't ask you to do that," he said. |