Gerda Bowie

Gerda Bowie greeted him in her usual hoarse, Bleacher Creature’s shout. She was a tall woman with masses of frizzy chestnut hair and a great rounded bosom. “Ain’t seen you in a coon’s age! Writing any good books lately?” “Trying,” Mort said. “You wouldn’t make me one of your special omelettes, would you?”

The store proprietor serves Mort breakfast.