"Yeah, it's tough," Hugo said.
"I got three bones left. Wanna join me in a feed an' get a job
afterward?"
Hugo looked into his eyes. They were troubled and desirous of
companionship. "No, thanks," he replied.
They waited for the man to scribble again in chalk.
"They was goin' to fix up everybody slick after the war. Oh, hell, yes."
"You in it?" Hugo asked.
"Up to my God-damned neck, buddy."
"Me, too. Guess I'll go up the line."
"I'll go witcha."
"Well--"
They waited a moment longer, for the man with the chalk had reappeared.
Hugo's comrade grunted. "Wash windows an' work in the steel mills. Break
your neck or burn your ear off. Wha' do they care?" Hugo had taken a
step toward the door, but the youth with the troubled eyes caught his
sleeve. "Don't go up for that, son. They burn you in them steel mills. I
seen guys afterward. Two years an' you're all done. This is tough, but
that's tougher. Sweet Jesus, I'll say it is."
Hugo loosened himself. "Gotta eat, buddy. I don't happen to have even
three bones available at the moment."