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Mirrored from the latest entry in Daron's Guitar Chronicles.
At noon I went around to Digger’s door and knocked, figuring I’d maybe get in the driver’s seat for once. The too-loud voices of daytime TV came faintly through the door and then it opened. He stood there in a white undershirt and boxers, bloodshot and unshaven. If the can in his hand had been beer instead of Sprite he could have passed for a trailer park movie extra. “Hey, kiddo.”
“Just wondering if you wanted to have some lunch.”
“Feeling sorry you blew me off last night, huh?” He gave me what could only be called a loving sneer.