Now that I think about it, it’s a 
lot like what Beth and Barry did last  
Tuesday, except they didn’t look like  
they were faking it. She really didn’t 
like taking money for taking care of   
all her babies.                        
     I think Joe appreciated my help,  
and also that I kept refusing the      
money, but that didn’t stop him from   
pretending that it really did piss him 
off anyway.                            
     First, he'd thoroughly clean a    
shot glass, over and over, grumbling   
under his breath about my being a      
somabitch. After a couple minutes of   
that, he’d come over, slam the glass   
down in front of me, pour me a shot,   
and then forget to charge me for it.   
     He did that until he figured he   
didn't owe me anymore.                 
*      Even if I didn't come in for        
months, he'd remember. When I tried to 
pay for the drink, he’d pretend, quite 
convincingly I might add, that he      
didn’t know what I was talking about.  
     “Do you have a receipt for that?” 
he once asked me, and added with a     
sorry look on his face, “No refunds    
without a receipt, and you’d know that 
already, if you ever bothered to read  
what's written under the toilet bowl in
the Men’s Room.”                       
     “Joe, I don't want money from you,
I want to give you money.”             
     “Oh, that's different,” he’d say  
and begin cleaning another shot glass. 
“Just refresh my memory. What do you   
wanna give me money for again?”        
     I pointed to the beer and shot,   
“These two and the other two I had     
earlier.”                              



CHAPTER 10: WEDNESDAY, OCTOBER 29th
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