She was and still is a pretty girl and he is and always will be as long as his memory holds out a dashing, handsome figure of a man. Of course she'd be in need of companionship , strength and innate wisdom of such a superlative example of masculine privilege.
The radio crackled with static between the immediate programming the AM dial could offer, secret messages encoded in between the recognizable tidbits of teen music and farm reports. He woke up from his dream and realized he was still in the drive through lane of the local WHAT'S YOUR BEEF!?(c) franchise waiting for his KNUCKLE SANDWICH with olives.
An announcer with a voice that was twenty pounds of ground glass cut through the static and over lapping stations to make this magnificent declaration. Even through car speakers that made every sound resemble arguments from a deep fruit cellar under a country home so that it was sinking its own wait and who's entire frame sagged like gargantuan Bozo frown, the announcer's voice was clear, alert, full of phlegm which filtered his drainpipe baritone.
"What I did this morning was tape record a whole damn hour of one of those early morning fishing shows, you know, two guys inna boat in the middle of the lake not talking, just fishing for long segments of time, just sitting there with their rods and reels and not talking, just grunting, and even they do speak there's nothing but grunts and garbled attempts to find a period or a question mark. Yeah, you know the shit, I know you watched it all, waiting for something to happen. I got it a full damn hour of it on tape, folks, and I am gonna play it now, uninterrupted and unmolested and definitely unfiltered by any kind of charcoal. I am going to step out and and FREAK something goon-tankish, so now, here it is, a full hour of a tv fishing show, no image, just damn silence, 'cept, of course, the occasional splash, fart and grunt. Enjoy"
The radio fell into silence. He was still in the drive through lane when it occured him that everyone in the WHAT'S YOUR BEEF!? franchise was dead. He was , amazingly, a decade in the future without warning. I blinked and I missed it he thought. He looked in the rear view mirror to study his face. Deep furrows, roadwork trenches, folds of flesh defeated by gravity.
Still got it, he thought.
