Cudney was losing steam, bumbling and stumbling like
something substantial had gone inside a shoe or he'd kicked off a couple of
toes and wasn't adjusting so well to the digit loss. He looked like a marathon runner shedding
energy precipitously, and that gorgeous golden goal, the ribbon, might go
unbroken. A car beeped. Jagging right, Cudney roared something over
his shoulder. Soon as he cleared the
space in question, a car backed up, taillights red, and Leonard minded all the
open space on his right, adjusting, thumping past rear car bumpers, keeping
clear of the driver, Cudney's new pal, shifting into drive, all open mouth and glaring
into their rearview at the winnowing Cudney silhouette, ejaculating who knows
what provocative proverbs to the benefit of their otherwise empty car cab.
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