Chapter Three
“BART, you’re not beating me this year,” Finch said to the man beside him, who was heading on toward ninety. He was dressed in thick leggings covered by flyaway shorts, and wore a tartan flannel vest over a Christmas sweater. He’d been fit for as long as Finch had known him, and put the younger members of Lyntacky to shame.
Unlike some of the others in town, age didn’t appear to be catching up on him.