#44: Frank's Last Pitch

Frank doesn’t exactly taste pennies in his mouth, but rather, in his throat. A cough with a rattle, an obstruction, there’s something in there and it’s not coming out and it’s probably got the image of Abe Lincoln on it. That was fine, though; it matched the tin-foil taste in his spit and the ache that had somehow found its way inside his eye. He needed to stop smoking, yes. To stop smoking, he’d need to stop driving. And if he stopped driving, that would mean he’d stopped selling, and that was one thing Frank could never do. Frank sold.