“SHIT! HERE COMES GRUFFY!” says Ilene. The patrons at the counter know the drill. Nobody looks around. Each man steels himself against the coming storm, heralded by a palpable barometric rise in the room. They fight the impulse to flee. Crossing paths with Billy Coates at the door is the surest way to become victim of the day. He awkwardly enters, pivoting an aluminum cane. In a coughing fit he scowls: “Hey fellers!”

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