“You going to see Connor Cobalt like that?” Like a million bucks? I look classy. I’m wearing a black band tee and ripped jeans. I even put on a watch. “Papa Cobalt hates AC/DC or what?” I ask. Akara tells Banks, “I haven’t told him about the call yet.” “He looks fine.” Thatcher has arrived, dressed in his Sunday best: charcoal button-down, black slacks. It’s the fall. He should be popping out the flannels. “All your flannels in the wash?”
