Ernie divided up the last drops of malt. “What gets my goat about him is how he leaves his keys in the ignition. Every time. He’d never do that out in the real world. But we’re so decrepit, so harmless, that he doesn’t even have to be careful when he visits.” I judged it poor form to ask Ernie why he had noticed a thing like that. He had never spoken an unnecessary word in his life.
