Butter.I can name a man's poison at fifty paces. I take one look at this guy as he walks in and say to myself, "Butter."
He steps carefully, like there's something sticky on the soles of his shoes. Maybe there is, but I figure he moves like that because he's on unfamiliar ground. Never seen his face before and I know just about everybody around.
...
This would be a massive gift to organized crime, and the indians who are already cleaning up from casinos on indian land who can now go on to open fried chicken joints and buffets. Speakeasies and black market food vendors will thrive. Do they think this won’t happen?