where is the Devil baby with it's antics, all the apartments in the square, sitting empty years. how longs it been? I wonder, has he learned to walk? is he still conducting interviews? he'd a way. gives me the willy jeepers just mulling it on my brain side. you know, I imagine his first words put three or four therapists out a job. and probably had that nurse telling tales she never knew she remembered. she cooed and baby talked, an he raises one brow, an began, so Margret, is it, am I reading that correct? you seem a fine medical practitioner, have you always been? commendable commendable, and why is that exactly? you just pulled that away, or, were you called? I see, yes, such a flame of passion you glow with it.
an so on, and so on, until her soul laid bare before his afternoon old eyes. unsettling those, like peering into an ancient tomb a first time.. the finest listener I ever seen, hand to the jerky bag, that's the honest truth in the venison right there. why he once made a sleeping cat wake up an yeowl like the Charlieest Dickens this side a Christmas story. one second sound asleep a back the barber's chair, next it's a memory flashed thru the room too quick to recollect what it was exactly you'd just been required to in fact, remember. durn box strutter up an ended itself in the intersection same day. all the better for ol, Carl, cuts hair like harvester fresh fueled. but allergic to cats something fierce. I don't guess any us regulars missed his sneezes mid chairin. you remember that bob tsiled ol gal? what'd he call her? Ang, that's what it was, short for some Sunday dust brushing he liked to go on about. you know sometimes them pious'uns get to looking like an umpire, bottom the ninth, bases loaded. hand's busier'n a family reunion kitchen. too bad the good clouded don't abide magic tricks an such, hand's the fast'd make more that Im takin it but I'm only passing it, plate. idk why they put coin pockets in slacks anyhow. that purse jingling all weeks been waiting on that thing, send it her way. amen, sis, if that don't put your back straight idk what will. ten percent in minted a might taxing idn'it? what? nevermind. Whaat? Nevermind Mrs, Dixon! I said nevermind! and that's why I envy tow truck drivers, they on call all weekend. ain't a misses to trundle and bundle em all into buttons, and polyester, till the whole business is just about unbearable, and then it's off to church, and the potluck the church ladies putting on after service. and they hauling round like running backs, ner a drop of sweat. men folk sitting about sweat dripping off the nose, pit stains in a tide steadily coming in. too stufled to note the other, let alone the weather. hell we're just trying to make it thru to the next breath. is it time to eat yet?