“Alors, I am walking out with all of this,” Bryce says as he joins me. He waves to the pile of our sleeping bags, the busted air mattress, the shovel and scrapers I just used, the empty sacks of salt I'm throwing into the trash, and the snacks that could feed our entire team for days. “And I am not a thief. So, here is my money.” He lays at least five hundred dollars more than what everything he's buying is worth on the counter in front of Guy.
