A few months after that, Jenks and his old crew were drinking beer in a local pub when one of the other guys asked the sex addict why he didn’t just find himself some young gold digger. Put her up in an apartment, give her an allowance. It would’ve been cheaper than driving all the way out to the Bridge to give all his money away to skanky, toothless, Christ knows what the fuck-disease-they-got hookers. The sex addict shrugged and said, “A girlfriend would’ve wanted to talk just as much as my wife.” Everybody nodded like something had just been put into perspective, but nobody wanted to say exactly what it was. Jenks found a donut shop. He got something to eat and tried to figure out what he should do with the rest of the day. It wasn’t even noon yet and the prostitutes wouldn’t be out until midnight. He had twelve hours to kill. He looked towards Sojourner and wondered if he should brace the shrink, see what else he might be able to find out about Hale. The doc and his socks would talk a bit more freely without the cops there putting Jenks under the microscope.
