Through a thick hangover haze, Eddie Randall detected the aroma of coffee, ham, and eggs. He sat up in bed long enough to see that he was still fully clothed, and that Bob was snoring on the hooked rug in the corner. "Ahhhh, God!" said Randall, and a woman's voice reached him from the kitchen, saying "Don't be taking the Lord's name in vain, Eddie! Why don't you get out in here and help me wit' breakfast?" Randall took a deep breath and swung his legs over the side of his bed, disturbing the rest of Rip, Bob's hound dog. Rip lumbered up and went over to lie next to Bob, who mumbled "git!" and rolled over, bumping the guitar that leaned against the wall near him.

Randall glanced at the nightstand, where a near-empty fifth of rye whiskey and a package that contained one bent Pall Mall cigarette caught his eye. He tossed down the dregs and lit the cigarette, rising unsteadily to his feet. Bouncing off the wall only once, he reached the doorway to the kitchen and leaned against the jam. Louise turned her head to stare at him, a spatula in her right hand. "You look like death eatin' a cracker," she said. "I guess Bob and I had us quite a time last night," he said. "Yeah," she said, pouring a mug of coffee and bringing it to him. He took it in his shaking hand as she looked at him with cynical appraisal. "You had you a time alright. And Bob just had to come by my house at 1 AM and make sure I got to join the party. Daddy probably worried sick I ain't come home yet." She poured another cup for Bob and walked over to where he lay. "Git up, Bob!" She said loudly. The hound dog cringed and beat the floor with his tail. She put the sole of her foot against Bob's shoulder and gave a push, saying "here's yo coffee, Bob!" Bob grunted and mumbled "goddam it woman... doan wan no coffee."

Louise came back into the kitchen and began scooping breakfast onto the plates. Eddie sat at the table and sipped his coffee, knocking his cigarette ash into a mayonnaise jar lid. He suddenly reached in his left front pocket and pulled out a thin roll of bills. With slow deliberation, he counted the money, then shook his head. "That's right, Eddie. You done spent most all your paycheck buyin rounds for the house at Red's, all the time braggin how you was gonna buy yo little boy a tricycle. Guess you ain't got enough left for that, huh?" He looked so crestfallen that she regretted her words and walked over to put an arm around his shoulder. "It's OK baby," she said.

"Hey, white boy. What you doin' with my woman?" Bob stood in the doorway glaring comically. "Well, if it ain't Mr Robert L Johnson, Esquire," said Louise. "You the last one up and that means you doin the dishes." Bob sat down chuckling and said "shheee-it. I ain' doin' no dishes, woman. I got delicate hands, don't you know?" and he held up his hands in the morning sunlight, the long fingers tapered, elegant. Bob nudged Eddie and laughed, his face crinkling in delight, and then he said "say, Cotton...any of that whiskey still left?"