a tall stoop-shouldered individual was waiting for johnny in the shadows outside the office.
i am old sarge, he said to johnny , and you belong to me.
i’m hungry, johnny replied.
can’t it wait until morning?
i would rather not.
old sarge stroked his long jaw thoughtfully. all right, he said, but then you owe me.
i thought i already belonged to you.
yes, but then you will belong to me and owe me both.
whatever, i just want something to eat.
all right, come over to the food court with me. we will see if cookie is still awake.
if you are old sarge. how come you are not wearing a uniform? johnny asked as they walked along through the darkness,
i only wear it on special occasions.
johnny did not ask what the special occasions might be.
they reached the “food court”, which looked like an all night diner, the kind you might find in pittsfield massachusetts or altoona pennsylvania.
a fat man was waiting behind the counter.
this is cookie, old sarge told johnny. he sat down on a stool at the counter. give this punk whatever he wants, within reason. after you get me a cup of coffee.
johnny did not object outwardly to being called a punk. he sat down, leaving a stool between himself and old sarge.
what will you have? cookie asked johnny, in a soft, hoarse voice.
a ham and egg sandwich. and a peanut butter and a jelly sandwich.
i can handle that, cookie replied. you want coffee?
yes, please, johnny replied politely. neither sarge nor cookie commented on his good manners, and cookie moved away down the counter.
johnny looked around, for the first time he noticed someone sitting in a booth in the corner.
it was buddy, with a cup of coffee in front of him. he did not show any sign of recognizing johnny, and johnny did not show any sign of recognizing him, and turned his gaze back behind the counter.
johnny noticed that there were no menus, or other signs, on the walls.
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