June 1977(7)

"I left the Star, I quit," she said. "I have a new job. Long story, but I'd rather hear about you. How did you end up..." She looked around the room as if she smelled something foul. Lucy had been a protective older sister-always looking out for me, comforting me when I got suspended for fighting in high school, supportive when I enlisted before graduation. "Like, what do you talk about with this... gathering of the Cro-Magnon Society?"

"Work," I said. "Bikes. Trucks. I've heard you and your friends yammering, and that's not exactly the fucking Algonquin."

"That's true," she said, laughing. She raised her glass to me. "Do you still watch TV? Back home, everyone's talking about Roots."

"I don't have a TV." My digs consisted of a bed in a room the size of a closet in what was essentially a flophouse for the pit crew. "But I read the book. And a lot of other stuff. Don't really miss TV, except Carson."

The band took a break. Rachel stepped out from behind the bar —cowboy boots, tight blue jeans, black sleeveless top. I liked watching her move. She went over to the jukebox. The first guitar bursts of Led Zeppelin's "All the Demons Are Here" ricocheted around the room.