The kids were 12 or 13 years old. Joan guessed that would make them peewees or bantams. Their coach was a fat, loud old fart whose presence took over the restaurant. The team came in without reservations for their end of season celebration. What kind of an idiot would do that? But the manager cobbled some tables together at the back to accommodate them. Once they were settled Joan went to take their order. “These guys have worked hard,” said the coach, “They deserve a round of beer.” Joan laughed, and then she realized the old jerk was not kidding.
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