“We’re nearing the end, Jim B., but we have no end. We’re doomed! I’m going to pray for one.”
“Not so fast my fellow B. There’s the car. Fast.”
The person in the back pondered whether to order another box of donuts.
Keith B. unfolded his hands and looked outside. “Little Jimmy? Bought on a whim?”
“No, the other Porsche. The throw-in.”
“Penny 1.01? That old clunker?”
“Maybe the first, then. Whassitsname again?”
“Like the sausage?” which made Keith B. think about something else.
“Um… different than the sausage.”
“I wonder if they have sausage here?” asked sweets weary Jim B.
“Donuts, 12 more donuts!” the yellow man shouts from in back.