“You get it, Gibs,” I slurred happily. “You get me.” “I get you, buddy,” he coaxed, squeezing my hand. “Shouldn’t he be out still?” “He should,” my father replied, sounding amused. “But the lad is as strong as an ox.” “I’m a bull,” I slurred. Gibsie snickered. “You’re a bull?” I nodded. “With big balls.” Gibsie laughed. “Big working balls.”
