He thought he was blinded. Little spits of fat stung all his face; he kept his eyes clamped shut.
—Are yeh alrigh’?
Bimbo didn’t sound all that worried.
—Me eyes, said Jimmy Sr.
—Oh, that’s shockin’, said Bimbo.—Here, he said.—Wash them.
He handed Jimmy Sr one of the milk bottles.
—Jesus, said Jimmy Sr.
He poured a small amount of the water into his palm and gave his face a wipe. That was better. The stinging was gone. It was no joke though; he’d have to be careful. He didn’t want to end up like the Phantom of the fuckin’ Opera.
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