A comment by Misplaced to one of my earlier posts reminded me of a true tale, which I will present in the form of one-act play.
The scene: LDP toils in the fields beneath a blazing Cincinnati sun. His broad back strains as he labors and he sweats the sweat of a working man. Buzzards circle menacingly overhead. Somewhere, a phone rings, and LDP turns his square-jawed face toward the sound. Reluctantly, he drops his tools and paces across the estate and through the back door of his house.
He picks up the phone.
LDP: Hello?
Misp*: Hey! What are you doing?
LDP: I'm cleaning dog crap out of my back yard. What are you doing?
Misp: I'm at the beach.
LDP: The what?
Misp: The beach?
LDP: You're at a waterpark?
Misp: No, a real beach. In Nice!
LDP: What's Neaps?
Misp: No, Nice -- in France.
LDP: Wait, you're in the south of France?
Misp: Yeah!
LDP: (bewildered silence)
Misp: And guess who I just met!
LDP: I -- uh --
Misp: Pete Townshend! I just met Pete Townshend!
LDP: I have to go now. (He gently places the phone handset in its cradle as a single tear rolls down his cheek.)
Curtain.
*Back then, Misplaced was still known as Misp, which is what we called him on the rough-and-tumble streets of our childhood, when we attended the school of hard knocks.
2 comments:
I was with Misp. when we met P.T. and Misp. just made this weird gurgling noise. I thought he was going to swallow his tongue.
Hilarious.
"What's neaps".... rofl...
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