But Po Sin wasnt interested in filling in blanks.

He stopped and faced me.

– Its cleaning shit up, is what it is. We got a packrat gig and one of my sets of hands is flaking on me and theres a load of shit to haul.

I squinted again.

– You mean literal shit?

– I mean stuff. Ten bucks an hour for hauling stuff. You want or not?

Chev came around the front of the van.

– He wants.

– Hey!

Chev put a finger in my face.

– He wants because the fridge is empty and its his turn to fill it and Im gonna start eating all my meals out so theres nothing for him to graze on, so if he wants to eat this week hell take the job.

Po Sin took a notepad from his back pocket and started scribbling with a nub of pencil from behind his ear.

– Good. Heres the address.

He handed me the paper.

– Seven in the AM. NO later.

– No problem, just swing by and pick me up.

Midway pulling himself up behind the wheel, Po Sin stopped.

– Pick you up? My ass. Drive yourself.

Chev shook his head.

– He doesnt have a car.

– I have a car.

– No, you dont.

– Yes I do. I have a great car. I have a classic nineteen-seventy-two Dat-sun five-ten.

– You have car parts. You do not, in fact, have a car.

– Yes I do. I have parts in sufficient quantity and variety that when assembled in their proper order they will constitute a car. I have, de facto, a car.

– You have a de facto pile of scrap in the driveway is what you have, dude.

Po Sin turned the key and the van started up.

– The bus is a buck fifty. You got a buck fifty?

I stuffed my hands in my pockets, looked somewhere else.

– I dont ride the bus.

Po Sin pointed at the number 10 stop, up at the corner.