Hem and HawI’d known Hem forever. That wasn’t his real name, of course. It was Jimmie. But everyone called him Hem. My name’s Karl, but to our world, I was Haw. We earned those monikers honestly from the time we were kids by constantly playing the old after you, my dear Alphonse routine. That started years ago and continues today. To wit: yesterday, when we decided we needed a treat from the summer heat, we started our usual humdrum.
“You wanna go to the diner or the malt shop?” Hem asked.
“I dunno. You?”
A shrug. “I dunno. Milkshake would be good.”
“Malt shop makes them better.”
“You think so? Diner makes good strawberries.”
“Yeah,” I came back at him, “but I think chocolate shakes are better at the shop.”
“Which one do you want?”
Now it was my time to shrug.
I’m not exactly sure
