LIMTUCKY: Valero

The Valero is full of crust. Old men in rancher jackets and green dungarees, wanting to smoke. No smoking inside the gas station. The gas station smells like cigarettes.

Truman says, "Oh here's a sight. Hammerin Hank. Where's yer hammer, Hank?"

"If it were up your ass, you'd know."

"Never heard that before."

-- Truman had a beard like a Quaker, red and some grey now, completely off-putting with no mustache to go with it.

"Hank, you know what my problem is with you? You think yer better than me. Admit it, you think yer better than me."

"I don't think I'm better'n you," Hank says. "My thoughts on me, what I am, wouldn't come into play were I to consider my dislike of you."

-- The old timers taking note now.

"You think yer smart?"

"This minute, talking with you, no, I don't think I'm smart."

-- Truman is looking around at a lot of old timers. Grasping for an out line, but cleverness was never his thing.

-- Hank turns around to leave. He doesn't hear the man again until he's in the parking lot.

 "Hank."

-- Now Truman is with him, gently, ever so gently, invading his space, his hand on Hank's arm.

"I could use an extra guy over at the pit, at least until the snow, and after, maybe."

"You keeping the pit open through the winter?"

"If there's business."

"Is there?"

"Probably not."

-- Hank thought about the man walking the cat. He considered telling Truman that he didn't have any other prospects. He thought how brave it would be to just admit it, especially to this guy. But living in truth had a limit. That limit was Truman. Some people weren't safe with honesty.

 "Too be honest, Truman, I got this other thing."