The Magic of Disney Animation

I was looking into his eyes and giving him all my charge right through the eyeballs. He killed his drink, eyes squinted. "Come to think of it, Ruby," he said, dropping his Walt Disney animal story narrator voice, "I don't owe these bastards a fucking thing." I thought I knew the boy then. I took a long shot. "When you were going to school here were you elected class president?" He looked at me. "Nope." "Who was?" He didn't answer. I looked over at the big assed little blond who was sucking around the women judges. "Was it her? I don't mean her, herself, but someone like her? Her big brother? The son or daughter of the banker or the newspaper editor or the town's rich man?" He was pouring himself a shot into the non-alcoholic punch. "They shit on you all your life, didn't they, Junior?" I used his old name deliberately. "And now that you've made it all by yourself… look, how did you learn to play the guitar? I'll bet it was sitting all alone in a mountain cabin because they shit on you and you couldn't buy your butt into their little social circles with a pair of ragged-assed jeans and bare feet." He grinned. "You're a smart gal, Ruby Gore ...»