Bob eventually dug his Video Hut membership card out from behind his driver’s license and signed for the tapes.
“We used to go out for bluegill in the winter.” Men in his family always talked about fishing. “Ever get up to Hickory Grove?” Jeremy asked him. “They get smallmouth, they have to throw half of them back.”
“This one’s a real good one,” he said, tapping Best of Bass Fishing Volume Four. When he made conversation these days he sounded like a farmer at an auction waiting for the bidding to start. There weren’t a lot of opportunities to meet people.
But he’d sold the family home after his wife died, and the Collins place was pretty remote. People talked a little about him, out there all by himself it was hoped he’d remarry. If he still hunted or fished, it wasn’t with anybody he’d known back when he lived in town: nobody really knew what Bob did with his time. Stephanie Parsons was in line behind him Jeremy could see her back there, looking mildly anxious, but there wasn’t much he could do about it.īob spent most of the year by himself in a farmhouse on a property he owned outside Collins. He stopped in sometimes on his way home from the co-op any tapes he rented he’d keep for a week. A little cleared space off to the side of the counter was good enough.īob Pietsch was renting Advanced Big Game and Best of Bass Fishing Volume Four today he stood there now, at the counter, patient, semimonolithic. Some stores had slots in the counter that dropped into a big bin, but Nevada was a small town. With a few variations, this silent pass was the unwritten protocol at video rental stores around the U.S. Sometimes they’d give a wordless nod or raise their eyebrows a little to make sure they’d been seen. People usually didn’t say anything when they returned their tapes to the Video Hut: in a single and somewhat graceful movement, they’d approach the counter, slide the tapes toward whoever was stationed behind the register, and wheel back toward the door.
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