Chetspeak on Sunday
On this particular night, my pal Iggy who lives next door got a little restless and did his yip-yip-yipping once or twice, and Mr. Parsons tried to shush him, and later a toilet flushed in their house. Our neighbor on the other side, old man Heydrich, went outside not long after that, and what was this? Whisk-whisk, whisk-whisk. He was sweeping the dirt from his part of the sidewalk onto ours? I barked, the low muffled kind of bark, not wanting to disturb Bernie. The whisk-whisking stopped, and old man Heydrich muttered something about curs, a new one on me. Then came the pad-pad-pad of his slippers, his door opening and closing, and quiet. I dropped down into dreamland. Did a car come down the street sometime later, moving slow, pausing in front of our place, driving on? Maybe. Dreams can be so strong, and then you wake up and poof! It doesn’t work the other way. You always remember real life. Sort of. But forget all that.
– from A Fistful of Collars.
Annie – picture didn’t load, please retry.
R.I.P.: Paul Blair
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