The Off Season

The man behind the post office counter had a burn scar on the inside of his right wrist, shiny and about the size of a bottle cap, and Russ had watched that scar move over that wrist three days earlier while its owner wrapped two pounds of ground chuck at the IGA. "You work the meat counter too?" Russ said. The nametag stitched on the blue shirt said WALT. He set the certified envelope on the scale, punched something into the register, and said, "That'd be Denny." "Denny." "Denny Vollmer." He tore off the receipt and laid it on the counter without sliding it over. "Six eighty-five." Russ counted out seven dollars. The wrist went into the drawer for change and came back with a dime and a nickel. "Same build as you," Russ said. "Lot of people around here look alike." Walt said it the way you'd say the road was icy. He was already reaching for the next thing, and there was no next thing, because Russ was the only customer and had been the only customer both times he had come in that…