“What’re you doing?” Garraty repeated patiently. “Counting my change.” “How much you got?” Baker clinked the money in his cupped hands and smiled. “Dollar twenty-two,” he said. Garraty grinned. “A fortune. What you going to do with it?” Baker didn’t smile back. He looked into the cold darkness dreamily. “Git me one of the big ones,” he said. His light Southern drawl had thickened appreciably. “Git me a lead-lined one with pink silk insides and a white satin headpillow.” He blinked his empty doorknob eyes. “Wouldn’t never rot then, not till Judgment Trump, when we are as we were. Clothed in
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