“How’s the little one?”
“Baby Levon?”
“Sure.”
“The best. I’m teaching him to read.”
“English?”
“Yes, Bob.”
“Hey, ya never know. Me and my wife–”
“Natasha Monster.”
“–Natasha Monster were going to raise Chloe in German.”
“Why?”
“Scheißt und kichert.”
“So why didn’t you?”
“That’s the only German I know.”
“Makes sense. We’re gonna stick to English for now.”
“Now is really the time to teach him other languages, though.”
“That’s true.”
“Get the busboys on that.”
“A bit of a racist assumption, Weir.”
“I’ve met them.”
“Still.”
“That polite fellow that runs the Vault speaks Canadian.”
“Not a language.”
“Now who’s the racist?”
“Weir, the kid’s American. He’s gonna speak English and that’s it.”
…
“Was I supposed to bring the drummer?”
“I wasn’t going to mention it, but: yeah.”
“Darn.”
Involuntarily, I now have a big, stupid grin on my face and waves of sentimental nostalgia coursing through body. Eewww Yuck plehhh….I love it.
Jer?
HOLY SHIT.
The guy in the back?
Mendoza
yeah. you can feel that pic. good ol’ grateful dead
a Rickenbacker 12 string? damn, get twangin’ that thing Bobby. and play the IBM Selectric too.