On another bright morning in Golden, Tony sits with the four Penny Loafers in wicker chairs outside the Verbivore as Theo approaches on his daily stroll. Tony greets Theo with theatrical teasing and, in front of the group, spins a running joke about Theo’s origins and persona.

Tony insists Theo should stop claiming Portugal and instead tell everyone he is from Rome, an artist with Mafia connections, complete with beret and even an ascot “from the Godfather.” Tony uses the bit to needle the town’s lack of curiosity and to push a real worry: the downtown bookseller is close to closing, with someone threatening to turn the bookstore into a massage parlor.

Theo mostly listens, smiling and offering occasional mock sympathy, while noticing again the split between Tony’s public mask and his private self. Theo reflects that when they are alone, Tony becomes thoughtful and wide-ranging—well read, deeply familiar with his inventory, and unusually good at conversation.

Theo recalls how their private talks have touched on authors, local history, and politics, with only partial sharing about their pasts. Theo hopes Tony’s sarcasm will eventually drop away entirely.

By this point, Theo has already pieced together enough of Tony’s history to understand the hard source of Tony’s gruffness: Tony served as a Vietnam infantryman and avoids discussing the experience, though he condemns war as insanity. After returning to a fractured America, Tony drifted through college, substance use, marriage and divorce, then sobered up, worked for decades as a newspaper copy editor, retired early, and used savings to buy the Broadway building long before the area became desirable.