“You’re up third, Saturday,” said Roger. “Five minutes. Come half an hour early or you lose your spot.”
“Really? I got five minutes?”
I walked to the bar, exuberant.
“I got five minutes!” I said to Bob and Drew. “I got five minutes!” I said to Jack.
“Everybody gets five minutes, asswipe,” said Jack. “You’d have to be the most unfunny son-of-a-bitch in Cincinnati to not get five minutes. And they’d still give you five minutes.”
“Great,” I said. “I can live with that.”