“We’ve got to blow this one horse town.”
“Thanks,” Marianne said.
“You’re the one horse” Jack smiled.
Driving into a blinding blizzard with no heat in the car.
Taking turns scraping ice off the inside of the windshield.
Making a tiny window, just enough to see the eighteen wheeler bearing down on them.
Yeah, it’s an open loop. You decide what happens next.
Chrissie was a regular at the club.
Friends with Moise and Larry, the King of Swing.
Followed Jack around like a puppy dog.
“Jack, you want a blow job?”
She asked, like offering a cigarette.
“No thanks, Chrissie, we’re working’ right now.”
“Ok, just let me know.”
Setting up the cameras for the S&M show.
Living in New York in the 1980’s. I was a crazy time. Jack was in the middle of it, trying to make a living.
One thing you could say was that he had nerve.
On the playground the older bully tried to make him submit.
“Is that all you got?”
Answered by a flurry of punches.
Jack laughed a belly laugh.
The lasting joy of not being broken
was well worth the pain of getting clocked a few times.
Jack Sprat could eat no fat.
He had a bit of an eating disorder
and was fond of purging.
Unusual in men, but not without precedent.
His wife, Glenda, could eat no lean.
She was type 2 diabetic simply from loving donut holes
and pounding french fries.
Together, they made every meal an adventure.
In our family we only had one dog name.
At one time, our grandparents and us both had dogs named Homer.
It’s very efficient.
You only have to give one command.
And call one name.
The dogs don’t care.
As long as you feed them, love them and don’t make them wear the same outfits.
It was Ruth’s idea.
Why waste energy having to remember more than one dog name?
Keep it simple, stupid.