“If you’re in a real hurry I’ll show you how to chukalug a beer down!”
We jump out, run into this cafe thru the now-rain, and duck up to the bar and order two beers. I tell him :–
“If you’re in a real hurry I’ll show you how to chukalug a beer down!”
“No necessity,” he says sadly, “we have a minute.”
He suddenly reminds me of Fournier the bookie in Brest.
He tells me his name, of Auvergne, I mine, of Brittany.
At the spot instant when I know he’s ready to fly I open my gullet and let a halfbottle of beer fall down a hole, a trick I learned in Phi Gamma Delta fraternity now I see for no small reason (holding up kegs at dawn, and with no pledge cap because I refused it and besides I was on the football team), and in the cab we jump like bankrob-bers and ZAM! we’re going 90 in the rain slick highway to Orly, he tells me how many kilometers fast he’s going, I look out the window and figure it’s our cruising speed to the next bar in Texas.
