That signature is so distinctive, I could spot it in my
sleep. I need to figure out how to sell this to someone -- maybe the
cops or something." He tipped Andy a wink.
Kurt opened and shut his mouth a few times, and Lyman slapped his palm
down on the table. "You look like you're going to bust something," he
said. "Don't worry. I kid. Damn, you've got you some big, easy-to-push
buttons."
Kurt made a face. "You wanted to sell our stuff to luxury hotels. You
tried to get us to present at the *SkyDome*. You're capable of
anything."
"The SkyDome would be a great venue for this stuff," Lyman said settling
into one of his favorite variations of bait-the-anarchist.
"The SkyDome was built with tax-dollars that should have been spent on
affordable housing, then was turned over to rich pals of the premier for
a song, who then ran it into the ground, got bailed out by the province,
and then it got turned over to different rich pals. You can just shut up
about the goddamned SkyDome. You'd have to break both of my legs and
*carry me* to get me to set foot in there."
"About the party," Adam said. "About the party."
"Yes, certainly," Lyman said. "Kurt, behave."
Kurt belched loudly, provoking a scowl from the Greek.
#
The Waldos all showed up in a bunch, with plastic brown liter bottles
filled with murky homemade beer and a giant bag of skunk-weed.
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