“Well, I did beat you without a snowboard,” Sue said, pointing. “Do you see that big guy over there?”

“Do you mean Johnny Starr?” Shinbone asked.

“No,” Sue said. “The big guy in the blue jacket. He has so much money that he could have you killed and fed to the pigs, before your mommy and daddy even knew you were gone. And, I might I add, he’s one of my best friends.”

“I could run home and get some money from my parents,” Shinbone said, fidgeting and looking nervous.

“Yeah, right,” Sue said. “If you left this park I’d never see you again. I think I’ll just kick you right in the balls, so they’ll be as useless as your promises.”

Sue did a complete 360-degree spin on her left foot so quickly no one could believe it, bringing her right one up in the air, and brushing the snow covered crotch of Shinbone’s jeans.

...

Since Buckington was the Santa Claus of our group, he gave out high fives to the guys, and hugs to the girls, and received enough thank yous to last him the rest of his life. Abe signed a few more autographs, and posed for more pictures before heading towards the bus, a smile on his face that a jackhammer couldn’t remove.

“Thank you for letting me use your sled, mister,” a boy of six or seven said, handing the pull rope to Buckington.

“That’s not my sled,” Buckington said smiling. “I bought that sled just for you, so you could have fun in the snow. You can keep it forever and ever.”

“Wow!” the kid said. “You really are Santa Claus, except you’re not fat with a white beard, and booze breath.”

...

“That’s very sweet,” Billi Rae said, smiling. “Why didn’t you ever give me a compliment like that when we were young and in love?”

“Because we were hippies,” Billy Ray said. “And there wasn’t too much sexy about any of us. Most of us were dirty, and all of us were hairy, especially the girls.”

“No way,” Buckington said. “I got a daughter who’s as hairy as a hippie and a polecat put together. Is there a pill she can take that can get rid of that?”

...

“What do you think of Johnny Starr… Abe John?” Buckington asked. “And be honest.”

“Well,” Abe said, pulling the last steak from the grill. “I honestly can’t stand listening to his voice. He screeches when he tries for the high notes, and imitates Elvis, badly I might add, when he goes for the low notes. I heard he has the ego of Donald Trump, and the personality of a turnip green, and that horrible crocodile song they play on the radio all the time is the worst noise ever written.”

“You must have a tin ear if you really feel that way,” Billi Rae said. “Or is it you don’t have the sense God gave you? All body, no mind, huh?”

“Simmer down now, Billi Rae,” Billy Ray said. “She gets a bit touchy when it comes to bad talkin’ about her favorite stars.”

“I think he flat sucks,” Sue said, skipping over to Abe and taking his hand. “I heard he’s ugly, and smelly, and hung like a cigarette butt.”

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