Angel and the OkieChapter 4
The Devil You Say That evening, we attended the box lunch and country-dance. Angel expressed keen disappointment when she found our version of "box lunches" weren't sexual events. But she was a good sport about it and whammied up a nice little Kentucky fried box of goodies. I bid on her box and Harold Loomis bid against me. Suddenly, I felt a squirmy feeling in my right jeans pocket. I reached in and pulled out a big wad of cash. "Well, Rupert," I said to myself. "I bet this means...