volume one IN THE D U D L E Y C L A R K - Ohio Vine Tours

manages to sit in the chair previously occupied by Old Guy and
does so without spilling a drop of milk, or releasing anything
personal.
Old Guy sits and emits a long, satisfied sigh.
He missed his chair.
“That’s more like it.”
He peers at Roy—sweating, gaseous Roy—and asks,
“Comfy?”
Apparently, he has switched from captor to host.
Roy—squeezing, retaining Roy—nods.
“OK.”
Old Guy smiles, raises his glass in salute, then takes a swig.
Roy brings the rim of the vast tub of milk to his lips.
He dips in the tip of his tongue.
Good old American cow milk.
His eyes wander across the vat’s vast, white surface to Old
Guy who watches like a cobra, his mustache dripping milk.
Roy takes a stab at a smile, then sips.
Old Guy reaches beside his chair and brings forth a bottle of
Kaluha.
Roy’s eyes goggle.
With a growing sense of unease, he watches Old Guy open the
bottle and pour some of the pitch-black liquid into his own vast
glass of white, turning its contents beige.
He holds the fancy bottle out to Roy.
Roy blows bubbles into his milk.
He shakes his head No Thank You.
Old Guy grins.
“You an alky?”
Roy removes the rim of the glass from the rim of his mouth
long enough to shrug and say,
“I dunno.”
“Drink your milk, then. First put some’ve this shit init.”
Old Guy, remember, still has a gun.
“Trust me.”
And, strangely, Roy does.
Not only does he trust Old Guy, he even drinks some milk.
1 0 ROY ROGERS IN THE 21ST CENTURY