Hey, Bobby. That was awfully nice of you the other day.
“Yeah, sure. Gave ya what the kids call a ‘shout-out.’ But, uh, I wasn’t actually shouting. I didn’t raise my voice at all.”
It’s a euphemism.
“It is, at that. I mean, I suppose you could yell.”
It’s allowed.
“I chose not to. I figured there were folks watching the stream who had dozed off in front of their screens, and why startle them? That’s rude.”
You’re known for your manners. What did you do to your knee?
“Well, you know American Ninja Warrior?”
Uh-huh. The obstacle course show on teevee.
“That one. I’ve kinda set my mind on appearing. Maybe they could do some sort of celebrity special. And so I set up some stuff in the backyard.”
Stuff?
“I made Matt Busch string some paracord between patio furniture.”
Gotcha.
“And, uh, I misjudged the chaise longue.”
You gotta be careful, Bobby. You’re not a kid anymore.
“But I have the core strength of five, maybe six kids. Big ones, too. Football players or whatever.”
Okay. What the hell guitar is that?
Cool.
Jerry & Bob chats, juxtaposed-like. Soothing. read these while drinking Modelos, sharing supermarket roast chicken (watching wasps reconnoitre with big hunks of bone meat), and looking out east from Louisa Boren Park across from Lake View Cemetery
Thank you sir!