This is what I do. I take Mickey over to Nemo’s. It’s right across the river from the track. Still a pain in the ass though. Rillito was flooded, monsoons and all . . .
He stamped the snow off his boots, brushed it off the shoulders of his jacket, and hit his Stetson against his thigh, leaving small puddles where the snow hit the warm floor and melted. He looked around the bar and saw the only empty stool next to the guy that had been sitting in the row ahead of him on the bus. He took the seat . . .