“Yeah - well they know it - they knew what they were goddamn doin” scowled Hellybutt, beer bottle rolling in his hands in the tv light. The caravan was celebrating that night, for the surf had been up and spirits was high, and it all went next door to a creperie and bar. But the lady delivered alcohol-free beer and so, Hellybutt disgusted with the whole mess slid the mint crepe to the side and yelled across the floor, and flicking his fingers - all American Eye-talian - “Dah! Forgeddibout-it!”
Then the next morning, lovely old Claudine - who was trying to either off-load past christmas gifts or get Bodean drunk, made it all better and soothed the bruised anglo-ego’s. God bless France, because Claudine said she’d pray for us on Sunday too. And the rain eased and it was a good time to be heading someplace further south.
