Downstairs at the Upstairs

We went through the kitchen – me and Bernie in front, the bad guys with Suzie in the middle, Freddie Dancer’s gun to her head. We walked down the hall, past the office and Charlie’s bedroom. Have I mentioned Charlie? Love Charlie. He’s Bernie’s kid, Bernie’s and Leda’s, actually, and since the divorce his bedroom is mostly empty. Maybe I’ll get into the divorce thing some other time – I still remember a big plate flying through the air: who’d have thought Leda had an arm like that? Bernie’s got a great arm. He pitched in college, which for him was West Point. Also maybe a story for later. But right now, where we?

Sunday! Elvis Gospel! Milky White Way!


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This entry was posted on Sunday, August 16th, 2009 at 8:45 am and is filed under Chet The Dog. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.

4 Responses to “Downstairs at the Upstairs”

  1. Mollypop
    5:25 am on August 16th, 2009

    My mommy laughed so hard she fell off her chair. She said it was about an upstairs, but we don't have an upstairs. I know every square inch of this house and no upstairs.

  2. B. Stover
    11:01 am on August 16th, 2009

    I knew there would be distractions.

  3. Diane Brodson
    11:06 am on August 16th, 2009

    Sundays are made for distractions…

    and cookouts and ribs and … Hey! there was a burger left on the grill.

  4. Rebecca Rice
    7:37 am on August 17th, 2009

    Oh no– SAVE THE BEEF!!!

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