He laughs, a thunderous, inarguable sound, reverberating through his jelly heft, wobbling above his convex belt. He laughs, at Henderson's joke or not even a joke, no, that's too generous- his grubby little bedroom tale: a poor man's wet dream. I see Cathy cringe though she hides it well. Practice, I guess. I offer a smile, she misinterprets- thinks I'm one of them, like him, and examines her shoes. Still he laughs, with pudgy, squinty eyes, a salty orb of spit glistening on his lip. The revolting sound of stagnant breath expelled in whooping glory. Interminably he slows to gulping chuckles, slaps Henderson's back, and titters again. For the first time, his glance meets mine, all inane expectant giggles. Cathy turns to me, and Henderson... and I laugh too.