The eye.  Wednesday night.  

Comics had to show up every Wednesday to get a number.  Shows were Saturdays, at first, then Fridays, then after a few weeks, Thursdays and Sundays, too.  Comics got $5 and a free drink for performing.      

Jack Previty hung out at the bar, a glassy, elfin smirk on his face, a bottomless mug of beer in his hand.  

“So, you what?  Yer in school?  Roger Bacon?  What?”


“Wyoming?  Out west?”

“By Tri-County.  Near Hartwell.”

“Huh.  I thought you were comin’ from like California – now, that’s a commute!  An yer in what – seventh grade?”

“12th.  I’m a senior.”

“Senior!  So, how you – yer mom drop you off?”  He grinned at Ervin, the bartender.  “Mom drops him off!”

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