“What’s going on with George?” Charlie asked me inquisitively.
“He drove off in the sunset a few weeks ago and never returned,” I replied.
“How old was he?” Charlie then asked.
“He was seventy five years old,” I replied.
“He’s got Medicare or Medicaid so he must be in a nursing home somewhere,” Charlie surmised.
I didn’t tell Charlie my most deep-seated fears – that George was in jail or dead. .
“I hope so,” I said to Charlie optimistically. “He almost couldn’t walk there at the end.”
“Your daddy insists on me getting him a senior coffee and I’ll be damned if I don’t about spill it every time,” Charlie said changing the subject.
I laughed and told Charlie he had a heart of gold as he balked.
Off Charlie went to get my father placated. Charlie’s phone was ringing and it was no doubt my father calling worriedly wondering what happened to him.
2 comments:
Your father can’t make a c of coffee? Poor Charlie.
Sir:
I am hoping George is doing ok. Perhaps he is off visiting some relatives? Or perhaps he *is* off on a bender with the lady friend he was involved with last time. Hopefully, though, if so, he is being a bit more careful this thine and will return soon, maybe a bit hung over, but generally his old self.
PipeTobacco
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