Billy stepped to the line and the clerk slid back the grate covering the window.
“Your effects, Mr. Kreutzmann.
“One pair flip-flops, worn.
“One pair shorts, also worn.
“One Sammy Miami tropical-style shirt.
“One terrible hat.
“One Benjy Eisen. Sign here.”
Billy signed Mickey’s name on the dotted line, screwed his trilby on his head, and walked out the main gate into the blinding sun.
“We getting the crew back together, Bill?”
“Billy, are we getting the crew together?”
Billy didn’t say anything; just kept walking like a man who had a crew to put back together.