Blackwater Val
He tossed it to Rich, who nearly howled in delight.
“Vern’s String Cheese Whips . . . no frickin’ way! Are you kidding me?”
“Dig in, man.”
Richard tucked his beer between his legs, pulling out his keys and using the big Chevrolet key to puncture the plastic wrap. He tore into it, grinning, at last pulling a single pencil-thin length of mozzarella cheese from the package. He held it up like a twisted rope of spaghetti, marveling and still murmuring, “No frickin’ way,” under his breath. “I haven’t tasted these in ten years or more.” He put his head back and dangled it loop by loop into his open mouth, and began to chew.
Bab Populer