He sat up, remaining there for a while. Looking out the windshield. Already the grackle had been chased off with a scare cannon and already they were stubbornly readying their return. A mass of black wings circling out and wheeling above the horizon, then stalling, setting like a menagerie in mid-air before swooping low and up and repopulating the branches.
Y’all roost, he said.
When he heard the pop the second time he didn’t watch the flock go but once more leaned down so to take another bump and then returned the stash to the glovecompartment and righted himself and checked his nose in the rearview mirror and got out of the car. He stood there just outside of the driverdoor. He looked around the parking lot and back toward the office. There wasn’t a person about. A lot full of cars but not a person about. Just him. Such has been the story of this young Morris. At the time that again someone fired that scare-cannon he shut the car door and walked off the parkinglot and onto the sidewalk toward the HEB.
A cold blast of air. The electric doors opening and then shutting behind him. He walked in and past the produce. He walked toward the end of the aisle. At once in fits about him not of any ethos but of something else he now stirred and stirred again and one ought think that to his affliction he’d given over and then he stilled himself. By now he was standing in front of the buffetcounter. Eyeing the salad fixings. Twisting his jaw with the muscles themselves and licking his lips save it wasn’t because he had any appetite remained. He looked across at an old man helping himself to the tuna casserole. It’s right good tuna, son, the man said. Morris nodded before turning to go and when he did turn he bumped into someone and that someone was a young woman and he said isn’t this a cliché and she looked at him and tilted her head and said that it was. Gathering herself she kept ahead. He called for her to hold on but she didn’t look back.
He felt for his tieknot and cleft and straightened it and smoothed down his hair. He walked up and by the checkout and looked over at her and when she saw him he waved and when she waved back he turned and kept ahead passing through the electric doors. By the time he had made it back GV was off two points. He swallowed as he watched it run across the ticker on the screen.
Don’t look so down, Morris, said Stick. You made a G gross. You got any others. We got one more hour.
He shook his head and went on into his office and from the door hook took his suitjacket and put it on. He went back into the pit and across to R.K’s office and told him that he was going home.
He nodded. You be back Monday, Morris, right?
You know I will, sir.
I worry about you, son.
Why’s that, sir.
I just do.