Mr. Menny slowed the cart and loosened his grip on the reins for a moment. The wheels creaked softly as they rolled over the damp road. He leaned back toward the cargo area, reached for a wine bottle that had been rolling around for the past few minutes, and caught it just before it knocked into the side again. With a quick motion, he popped it open.
I was sitting up front beside him, while Ken lay stretched out in the back of the cart, arms tucked behind his head, hood pulled low over his face as the light rain tapped against the fabric.
"You drink, kid?" Mr. Menny asked after taking a long sip.
"Not really."
"Shame," he said with a grin. "I would give my left ball for a good wine."
"Why not the right one?"
"I already gave that one away for wine," he shot back immediately, laughing as he slapped his knee.
I let out a small laugh and shook my head. "Wow."
The cart rolled forward a little more before Mr. Menny pulled the reins and brought the horses to a stop.
