 Mike was an alcoholic, and he left me to open and close the place most of the time. Sometimes he would stagger in in the middle of the afternoon and lay down on the lopsided pool table. Once comfortably spread out, he'd ask me to cover him from head to toe with the stuffed animals for skee-ball so he could sleep without getting caught by the old woman who ran the pier. Every time I put Mike to bed, I became more and more convinced that Yeshiva was the place for me.