“Dad, I’ve been working to get the store going, but damn, I just can’t seem to get over the hump,” Delroy whines, slung-headed, scrabbling as was his wont, at his beer label.
Larry thinks contumely, Jesus, boy; you’re thirty-seven, man up.
Delroy continues his press premeditatedly. “I just need enough to get into the summer, when people spend more.”
Larry recalls having advised Delroy that the boy didn’t have adequate funds to carry through until the business would be self-sustaining.
“There’d be no question; I’ll pay you back by October, November at the latest.”
“How much?” asks the father expressing resignation.