Bowing his head, Mikey Hoyle spoke in reverential terms.

Twelve Pack Flynn died.

Mayor Spuds McAnus’ mouth sprung open quick as a gallows trap door in the Molly Maguires’ movie.

He didn’t.

He did.

He never did that before.

The COVID got him, Mikey said.

It’s no wonder, McAnus said, did you see the size of him?

His wife said he was bigger than the ventilator.

He did put on some weight.

And that was before he won the hot dog eating contest at the bar.

So Twelve Pack died from a heart attack instead of the COVID like the lib doctors want us to believe, McAnus said.

Did he have a chance to vote before he passed I wonder?

I got his absentee ballot right here in my pocket, McAnus said, I got a dozen or so from the senior center to drop off after the rally with Mr. Trump at the airport.

Can I get a ride with you?

I’m going up on the Irish Guys’ bus from the bar. We got a half keg for the ride up and back.

I told you Mr. Trump wouldn’t forget us, Hoyle said.

The mines still aren’t open, though, McAnus said.

Let the Mexicans did coal, Hoyle said, I’m putting in an application for a security job at the federal courthouse.

Cleaning services for me, McAnus said, speaking as president of the ghost janitorial company I’m starting.

That’ll be the life, Hoyle said, sick days and everything.

Mileage, too, McAnus said.

That Socialist Biden and his colored girlfriend don’t have a chance.

They don’t, do they?

Go on.