"I don't mean putting anybody down or being insulting. Like we're at a restaurant, one of those trendy places the waiter introduces himself?

This twinkle comes up to the table, he goes, "Hi, I'm Wally, I'm gonna be your wait person this evening. Can I get you a cocktail?" Phyllis goes, "Wally, when we've finished dinner, you gonna take us out and introduce us to the dishwasher?"

She goes, "We really don't care what your name is as long as you're here when we want something."

" Jerry grinned, adjusting his Tiger baseball cap.

"That's good, I can appreciate that. Those guys kill me."

They drew on their cigarettes. Chris looked at his, about to say something, working the butt between his thumb and second finger to flick it away, and the French doors and some of the windows on this side of the house exploded out in a billow of gray smoke tinged yellow.

They stood looking at the shattered doorway, at the smoke and dust thinning, settling over glass and wood fragments, shreds of blackened green-and-white debris on the patio, silence ringing in their ears now.

After a few moments they started down the drive, let the people waiting in front know they were okay.

Chris said, "Yeah, the twink comes up to the table, says he's gonna be our wait person But you have to understand, Phyllis wasn't trying to be funny, she was serious. That's the way she is." 9 kip told Robin he had to blow up a car on the Belle Isle bridge either tomorrow or the next day if it didn't rain and then he'd be through. He said they called it the kush shot. The car would go flying off the bridge, explode in midair in this huge ball of fire, and when it hit the Detroit River it would go kushhhh and all this smoke would rise up.

Robin said, "Far out. You like your work, huh?"

Skip said, "Well, it's bullshit, you know, movies. But it's kinda fun.

It sure beats working as an extra, standing out in the sun all day while the director and the star shoot the shit."