Ham On Rye

What're you standing there for? Why don't you go down and sign

^^ up?

There was whiskey on his breath. He had freckles and a very large nose.

"You're going to miss your bus," I told him. He went off toward the bus departure point.

" Fuck the god-damned fucking Japs!" he said.

Becker finally had his ticket. I walked him to his bus. He stood in another line.

"Any advice?" he asked.

"No."

The line was filing slowly into the bus. The girl was weeping and talking rapidly and quietly to her soldier. Becker was at the door. I punched him on the shoulder. "You're the best I've known."

"Thanks, Hank…"

"Goodbye…"

I walked out of there. Suddenly there was traffic on the street. People were driving badly, ru

I walked along Main Street. There wouldn't be much for the B-girls today. I walked along. Then I came to the Pe

I walked along in the dark aisles among the broken machines. They called it a Pe

It took two to play the boxing game and I wasn't going to play with the pervert who owned the place. Then I saw a little Mexican boy, eight or nine years old. He came walking down the aisle. A nice-looking, intelligent Mexican boy.

"Hey, kid?"

"Yes, Mister?"

"Wa

"Free?"

"Sure. I'm paying. Pick your fighter."

He circled around, peering through the glass. He looked very serious. Then he said, "O.K., I'll take the guy in the red trunks. He looks best."

"All right."

The kid got on his side of the game and stared through the glass. He looked at his fighter, then he looked up at me.

"Mister, don't you know that there's a war on?"

"Yes."

We stood there.

"You gotta put the coin in," said the kid.

"What are you doing in this place?" I asked him. "How come you're not in school?"

"It's Sunday."

I put the dime in. The kid started squeezing his triggers and I started squeezing mine. The kid had made a bad choice. The left arm of his fighter was broken and only reached up halfway. It could never hit the button on my fighters chin. All the kid had was a right hand. I decided to take my time. My guy had blue trunks. I moved him in and out, making sudden flurries. The Mexican kid was great, he kept trying. He gave up on the left arm and just squeezed the trigger for the right arm. I rushed blue trunks in for the kill, squeezing both triggers. The kid kept pumping the right arm of red trunks. Suddenly blue trunks dropped. He went down hard, making a clanking sound.

"I got ya. Mister," said the kid.

"You won," I said. The kid was excited. He kept looking at blue trunks flat on his ass.

"You wa

I paused, I don't know why.

"You out of money, Mister?"

"Oh, no."

"O.K., then, we'll fight."

I put in another dime and blue trunks sprang to his feet. The kid started squeezing his one trigger and the right arm of red trunks pumped and pumped. I let blue trunks stand back for a while and contemplate. Then I nodded at the kid. I moved blue trunks in, both arms flailing. I felt I had to win. It seemed very important. I didn't know why it was important and I kept thinking, why do I think this is so important?

And another part of me answered, just because it is. Then blue trunks dropped again, hard, making the same iron clanking sound. I looked at him laying on his back down there on his little green velvet mat. Then I turned around and walked out.