Four Of A Kind
The bell chimes. I glance at the clock. 7:45. It’s Hank. Has to be Hank. He’s always early. Of the three he’s my least favorite, one of those loud-talking, jolly types, but he and Rod are bff, so there you go. “Hey! Amigo! Que pasa?” “Hey.” We go into the kitchen, I crack open a couple of beers, then head into the den. The sports channel is on the TV. Soccer highlights. Hank grabs the remote and thumbs it until he finds baseball. ...