She whipped around and placed the change in front of me. “Miss, that’s yours.” Sliding the change back to her.“Why, thank you,” she said. Ro...nding it up, and dropping it in a bucket by the register. She turned back to me, “Hard day?”I took a long, hard chug of my drink, “You could definitely say that.”She rubbed the back of my hand, “It’ll be better now,” she said. “Enjoy that, I’ll get you some chips.” She swiftly turned and headed down the bar.That gave me a chance to look her over. She was. About an hour before game time when I was huddled under the roof of the bullpen wishing I owned some woolen gloves, Marvin Marshall, the old pitching coach, nudged my foot with his toe. I snapped back from wherever my mind was, probably somewhere in Florida."You wanna start?" he asked after spitting a gob of tobacco juice into the dirt. He wore the bill of his cap so low it was hard to see his eyes.I lifted an eyebrow at him and pointed to my own chest."Buzzy don' wanna let the kid hurt hisself. More

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