He saw the light in the kitchen was still on. Probably meant she was waiting up on him. It was two in the morning. She should’ve been in bed. Every Saturday night it was the same thing; her waiting up on him. Always in the kitchen too. Never the front room, the back screened in porch, always the kitchen. She would sit there with two cups of coffee at the metal table. He walked in with his head lowered.

How are the boys?, she’d ask him. He’d say they were fine. Win any?, lit a cigarette and blew out the match. He’d shake his head no. There was a real interesting news story on tonight, she poured another coffee. ‘Bout how this boy held up a gas station on the far end of town. Said he shot the attendant three times. He’s in critical condition. Took off with a hundred bucks. All that for a hundred dollars. Did you hear ’bout this?, he said no.

You don’t watch the news at the bar now do ya? ‘Sides, you were throwing darts. You didn’t win a single game? Seems like you lose all the time. I don’t know why you go there. Got a dart board in the basement. Anyway, that boy who shot him was colored. They showed a picture of him on the camera. He’ll probably get away with it. Seems like they always do. A hundred bucks? Can you imagine?

He tipped his John Deer hat and said goodnight to her. Left her there in the kitchen to turn everything off. She mumbled under her breath.

A hundred bucks? Don’t make no sense.