RIP Ukulele Master
“You had nothing to do with anything, you say,” Bernie said to Fetzer. “Can’t get more comprehensive than that.” Fetzer blinked. Bernie can do that to people, make them blink just by saying things. As for what he’d just said, don’t come to me.
Bernie glanced around the shop. His gaze went to a newspaper lying open on a table. He stiffened. Uh-oh. Something was up. He moved to the table, picked up the paper. His eyes moved back and forth. Human eyes do that when they’re reading. There’s something machine-like about it that bothers me. Don’t know if you’ve noticed, but humans can be machine-like at times. Maybe we’ll get to that later. But right now Bernie was saying, “Oh, no – John King died.”
Fetzer’s bushy white eyebrows rose. “You’re a ukulele player?” he said.
“Not like him,” Bernie said. “I just mess around a little.”
“No one was like him,” Fetzer said. There was a silence, the kind of silence that happens when humans are thinking. “Maybe we can work something out,” Fetzer said.
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