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.”
“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!”
