"You know what," Dale said squinting despite his sunglasses and hat,
"At least Luanne is doing good."

He drew the rest of the cigarette in one long suck, shook his head around with his hands like you might shake up a dang ol' giant 8-Ball, if you had an 8-Ball that big for some reason, and blew it out in another long ass breath.  Ever since they took all them good ingredients out the cough syrup and the Four Lokos and all that he needed something stronger than good old nicotine and Dew.

Light-headed now he continued on,

"I never liked Lucky much.  Sounded like some kind of fruity Seattle guy.  Or like Portland.  Or Santy Franciscy or something.  Squirrelly little fucker. And I'll tell you what, toward the end Hank,"

He looks off into the middle distance again.  His repertoire of cool guy moves is very limited.  It's basically Middle Distance Looking and Not Looking At Explosions, but with Hank here running the propane and propane accessories business there aren't too many explosions.

Anywho, Dale continued on looking all dramatic like,

"Toward the end there Hank I don't think Lucky liked Luanne much.  He wasn't a big fan of her no more.  She's in a better place now Hank.  She'll turn it around I reckon.  She came home, back in Alamo and making friends.  Shit these day she hangs out with Only Fans.  Heard her talking about it.  Spends all day with them most every day."

Bill looks as though he has something to say for a second, but then he just does a creepy Bill Dauterive laugh, slams the rest of his Alamo, and hurries into his house about as fast as he's ever moved.