AV Gallery 19

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pointed to a man in Army green sitting alone at a table with his back towards them. He seemed to be slouching very low in his chair. Peck felt no particular urge to strike up a conversation. "Well, I don't know, ma'am," he told the woman by way of excuse. "I'm just killing some time, and I can't stay long." "Oh, don't be silly," AV Gallery 19 said brightly. Coming out from behind the counter, AV Gallery 19 took him by the elbow and propelled him toward the table. "Here we are," AV Gallery 19 said before he could argue further. "Now, what was your name, son?" AV Gallery 19 asked as the Army flier looked up. Peck noted bloodshot and bleary eyes, a distinct odor of gin, and three empty coffee cups on the table around a half-crumpled pack of Camels. The soldier grinned "Harris, William, Second Lieutenant, U.S. Army Air Forces, at yer service. You s'pose I could have a little more coffee?" "You sure bet you can, Lieutenant. This here's, ah . . ." "Harold Peck," he admitted, seeing that the introduction was now inevitable. They shook hands, and the matron hurried back to "Navy, eh? Well, have a seat, Navy. You waitin' fer a plane outa here? Yep, I thought so. Same here. S'posed ta been outa here yesterday, but what a SNAFU." "Rough weather," Peck observed. ...(cont.)
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