on

the certitudes described social affairs well enough. But social affairs are never taken as a whole. The very notion 中古車 was an abstraction. In the real world, in the literary shadows where people of the lower classes met and mingled, the truth could be quite different.
* * *
Not everyone saw it the way he did, of course. Often enough, not even members of the lower classes were involved. That had been made pretty clear the previous evening.
"Oh, that's just silly!" Marie Laveau had snorted at one point in the drunken conversation that had taken place around her kitchen table. "Patrick Driscol, every lynch mob I ever seen or heard about was mostly made up of the poorest white trash around. You won't see hardly any rich men around."
"Sure," Driscol replied. "So wha 軽自動車 中古 t?"
He took the time, politely, to pour Charles Ball another drink. That took quite a bit of time, because by now his hand was very far from steady.
"Same was true in Ireland. The Sassenach could always get plenty of dirt-poor Irishmen to do their dirty work for them. But they were the ones who called the tune, not the slobs—and they could have stopped it in a minute if they'd wanted to."
" 'E's right," Charles burped. "You know it well's I do, Marie. Mos' o' the time, anyhow. There's a lynching, there's rich men gave the signal for it. And they sure always the ones see to it nobody gets punished afterward."
Marie glared at him. "Since when do you start spoutin' this crazy Scots-Irishman's radical notions?"
"You only known me a short while, girl," Charles protested.
Marie's glare never wavered. After a bit, Charles grinned and shrugged. "Didn' say I did. But 'e's right about that. And I'll tell you what else."
Ball clapped a friendly hand on Driscol's shoulder, spilling some of the liquor from Driscol's glass onto his lap. But nobody noticed. It wasn't as if those were the first liquor stains on the now-bedraggled uniform.
"This here fine Irishman ain't the first white friend I've ever had. Been several of them, before, in the navy. Still got some, in fact—three o' our new unit is white, just 'cause they more comfortable with us than they was with the others. And you know what, girl? Not a one of those white-boy friends of mine had any bigger pot to piss in than I did."
"Aye!" Driscol exclaimed, gesturing dramatically with his glass. The liquor stains on his trousers expanded. "That's the point, Marie. I didn't say poor people were virtuous. I've