Them days we’d meet up after work at Fat Vince’s.
Little Stevie was still alive then, before all that shit with his Ma.
We’d eat and figure out what to do with Saturday Night.
I was holding down seven-to-four at Saragaglia’s Hardware, mixing paint and flirting with the women.
That place got more women than you ever saw in a hardware store, all of them helpless as does.
What’s a Phillips screwdriver, James?
Will this plug fit my drain?
I always remembered all of their names, too.
They loved me.
Looking back, I think that’s why Saragaglia kept me on.