Зима тревоги нашей

           Twotopbuttonsofhispantswereopen,showinghisheavygrayunderwear.Hehookedlittlefatthumbsintherollofhispantsunderhisstomachandblinkedinthehalf-darkness.

           "Morning,Mr.Marullo.Iguessit’safternoon."

           "Hi,kid.Youshutupgoodandquick."

           "Wholetown’sshut.Ithoughtyou’dbeatmass."

           "Nomasstoday.Onlydayintheyearwithnomass."

           "Thatso?Ididn’tknowthat.AnythingIcandoforyou?"

           Theshortfatarmsstretchedandrockedbackandforthontheelbows."Myarmshurt,kid.Arthritis....Getsworse."

           "Nothingyoucando?"

           "Idoeverything—hotpads,sharkoil,pills—stillhurts.Allniceandshutup.Maybewecanhaveatalk,eh,kid?"Histeethflashed.

           "Anythingwrong?"

           "Wrong?What’swrong?"

           "Well,ifyou’llwaitaminute,I’lljusttakethesesandwichestothebank.Mr.Morphyaskedforthem."

           "You’reasmartkid.Yougiveservice.That’sgood."

           Ethanwentthroughthestoreroom,crossedthealley,andknockedonthebackdoorofthebank.HepassedthemilkandsandwichesintoJoey.