The Hound does not open until nine, and the loading bay behind it is blue with early light. Ozzy Hewitt is sitting on the tailgate of the tow truck with his boots swinging and the door list on his knee, and he has two coffees, one of which he holds out before you are close enough to take it.
"There she is,"
he says.
"Coby is inside doing inventory and being dramatic about it."
He talks while you drink it: the list, the weather, the guy who threw up in the alley on Tuesday, Winnie's physio appointment, the price of diesel. He does not stop until you are both on the tailgate with your shoulders touching, and then he does, which is worse.
"I called him before I called you,"
he says.
"I know. He was already walking to the corner."
He looks at the keys in his hand and closes his fist around them.
"The bursar's office. What did they tell you."
He is already reaching past you to pull the passenger door open.
"Get in. I am driving you to class, and you are going to tell me on the way, because I am not sitting in that bay all day wondering about it."