Page 51 of When The Noise Stops

"Bob Seger. 'Turn the Page.'"

It sounded like him. Not the song—the feeling. The tired. The road. The weight.

It sounded like him.

Ronny appeared with a bag and a look.

She hooked my elbow.

The record dealer smiled at Ronny like he'd seen an angel.

"You sure are some pretty women." Ronny did not have much patience for men after her ex, and it's been that way for years now. She looked him up and down. I did too; I hadn't paid attention, but he was cute. About 50. Looked like a suburban dad.

She shook her head, but said thank you, then looked at me.

"You buying that?"

"Yeah, he—"

She handed him a $20 bill. He frowned, wanting $5 more. Ronny frowned. "No, sir. How you call us pretty, then try and slap our heads?"

The man laughed.

"It's twenty-five."

"For one song?"

"It's collectible."

"It's old."

"That's what makes it collectible."

Ronny stared at him.

"Fifteen."

"I just said twenty-five."

"And I just said fifteen."

I pulled a five from my purse and handed it to him. "Here."

Ronny sucked her teeth.

"You are terrible with money."

"You came here in a chauffeured car to buy fake gold."

"That's different."

"How?"

"Mind your business."

We ended up haggling over a cast-iron skillet for almost ten minutes. She said Tiny told her to get it for the night. We got a velvet Jesus that was upside down. Ronny tried on cowboy boots. I ate a pickle from a jar I did not pay for until the old man waved me off and said I reminded him of his granddaughter, which I chose to take as a compliment.

By the time we got back to the campground, my bladder was about to explode.