Uncle Roger and Jeff followed me into my room.
I didn't have three chairs.
Jeff sat on the stool. Uncle Roger sat on
the straightbacked wooden chair.
I sat on the edge of the bed.
"Uncle Roger has something he wants to tell you,"
I said to Jeff.

Uncle Roger reached into his pocket and pulled out
a chip covered with tiny gold lines -- like the chip
he had handed me in the bathroom of the hotel
where we celebrated Tom's birthday.
"Young man, does this look familiar?" he asked.




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Uncle Roger File 3: Terminals by Judy Malloy
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