"Last one Kris"

   The flask was tossed into a wastebasket overflowing with yellow and pink forms and carbon paper.  The wild eyed man wiped his lips with his arm from the elbow to the back of his hand.  He pinched the purse of skin at his elbow because that made a couple of the children laugh almost as loud as the jet engines.  The auburn-haired woman straightened the folded edge of her silky shawl along the sides of her face.  She studied the man's hands and arms.  "Like what?" I bent my head towards her and uncupped one "ear muff".  She swatted away a fly, one of many eating on the "hard tack" dumped in a pile in front of the post sachels.  "If it was a poem, the drawing, like what? His sunspots." 

  "Raisins, tar on a beach, cockro

  "Almost there," the ear muffs told us.