Travel Reference
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Tito, shorter and balder, wandered over and was rewarded with what seemed to me an
incredibly complicated explanation, punctuated by a couple of dark, sidelong glances in
our direction.
,” said Tito after an extended pause. “We have.”
This sounded suspiciously familiar.
“Great, we'd like to buy them,” I interjected. “Now.”
He hitched up his pants, casting a quizzical glance in our direction.
“How many?”
Oh God. Frantically, I ran the figures in my head.
“Seven hundred square feet.”
Tito pondered this figure for an extraordinarily long time.
Bueno ,” he said at last. “We have this number.”
Michael and I were practically panting with excitement at this point.
“Great. Where are they?”
Tito's expression turned from exhilaration to despair on a dime.
“Not here,” he responded with apparent sympathy.
I could have wept.
“Where are they?”
“Frankie's house.”
“Who's Frankie?”
This question clearly rocked his world. It turned out that Frankie was not only his boss
but the owner of the store.
“Could you call him?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“His mother, she die. The day before today.”
In addition to being sad news, this didn't portend well for getting our hands on the tile
anytime soon. The stench of defeat was in the air, at least for now. We slunk back inside to
have a final look around and pay for our other items.
“Ask them if we can take the sample with us,” I whispered.
“Are you nuts?” Michael said, stuffing the tile into one of our bags.
We called Steve from the car and told him the story.
“Oh, Frankie. Sure, I know him. Cool dude.”
He sounded remarkably calm about the whole situation.
“Can you call him?” I squeaked.
Long pause.
“Now?”
“Yes, please. And be sure to buy more than we need, because if you don't and it's dis-
continued, we're screwed.”
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