"What are you still doing here?"

      "It's like a Country Music song I can't get out of," Briefcase Boy's eyes crossed and that made him look really weird.  "Don't do that." 

     His truck was mashed on one side.  Not mangle mashed but like side-swiped.  The runner board peeling up like a sardine can.  "Oh man." 

     Inside the bartender was wearing a nice sweater, jeans, and almost dress shoes.  He'd dug out the bigger chili pot and was tasting both.  "Does this taste the same?" He scooped some into two shot cups.  "Are you crying?" 

     "Must've been a spicey bite," he wiped his hands on a bar towel apron and moved off to square pans of cider.  "Those friends of yours are really something." 

     "What'd they do? And, did the Briefcase guy hurt anyone?" 

     "To hear tell the trees fared better." 

     The Pastor's wife came into the kitchen in a bathrobe and towel on her head.  "You're still here too?!" She gave the bartender a ten dollar bill and he scooped out two bowls of chili for her.  "He's gonna try." 

     "That is so good!"  She went back out a back door.

     "What's gone on in the four days I was camping?" 

     (i)Whew.(i)  He moved off to wash dishes.  After about five minutes he said, "And a whole lot of good music.  I mean really good.  True talent." 

     "What's the Pastor gonna try to do?" 

     He rested a wet pan on top of some cans of applesauce.  "Write a book!"  He lifted the pan to a rack.  "Wish I could do that." 

     "Start small.  That's all I'm saying.  The whole book part comes and goes."