Station now closed, I offer to drive her to her East 65th apartment so she’s home safe and suggest she come back for her car later. Once there, I ask to wash up to get the dirt off my hands. She directs me to the bathroom, and while I am drying my hands, her man comes home and I hear Nita explaining the chain of events to him. As I emerge from the bathroom, here is this 6-6, 290-pound guy looking right through me.
Fortunately for me, he believes Nita that my intentions have been nothing but honorable since this ordeal began.
I guess as a gesture of appreciation, he asks me two things: Do I smoke and drink? I reply, “Taryeton’s and beer.” He pulls open a kitchen drawer and pulls out some homemade cigarettes and a liquor bottle with no label, just clear liquid in it. Not wanting to offend, I now join them in smoking homemade cigarettes and drinking clear liquid from a Styrofoam cup.
When I left, my radio said Dick Bosman was pitching a no-hitter in the seventh. Too late for the game, I decided to head home and pick up a pizza just as the game ended. Being a die-hard Indians fan and having a buzz from the homemade cigarettes and the clear liquid, as I paid the elderly female cashier, I blurted out loudly, “Dick Bosman just pitched a no-hitter!”
I can still see the look on that woman’s face, even today.