53 Fair-limbed youth

She was going to get laid and that was that, no matter what this raffish know-it-all said. My God, oblivion to the extent of not zipping up. She also noticed his garage sale Brooks Brothers dress shirt, wrinkled, and one sleeve rolled and the other buttoned, was inside out. Blue label – in her day that counted. (“Oh my God, in my day!” – she tried to keep timelines at bay.)
“Old broad!/Ramrod!” Frisco hadn’t any idea how to extricate himself, and his nerves jostled up the ancestral tendency to originate short verse. The youthful aspect of the disguise worked too well, but he had to keep an unfiltered vantage point for observing baby Drew. Reviewers had clucked with kudos about the title peeking out of his interlocutor’s tote, and how the author scored all over the age spectrum. “Get down!” he conceded, thinking solely in conceptual terms of mission and accomplishment.
She of generous white hair and supple frame and high performance lymph then listened tolerantly without quite believing her ears. This supposedly intelligent young man believed O.J. was innocent!
“Mr. O. J. Simpson is in the news again, still denying it,” she said, that the scholar in loose disarray would look at her.
“The truth is all in the 911 tapes, isn’t it?” Frisco answered, picking a speck of dust from his eye like a collegiate wit trying to assume the air of Truman Capote at his most blase.
“Yes,” she smiled, glad of his attention.
“Then you agree that Meryl Streep killed Nicole Brown Simpson. I suppose she had to finish off the young swain, as well. The eyewitness factor.”
Agog! But she let him continue.
“No one, NO one but Meryl Streep could get O. J.’s accent so perfectly. Just LISTEN to that tape. And she WOULD be jealous, wouldn’t she, of the younger, prettier woman whose hair was softer and shinier.”
He continued tangentially, ” . . . 9/11 was certainly unfortunate. But these things happen.”
“Blowing up the World Trade Center! ‘Unfortunate’?” she sputtered, with potential to blow her stack. “These things happen?”
Sex, she reminded, to calm herself. Orgasm. She was able to resume licking her chops by invoking the litany “Young, yum.” A quick, astute thought of all the angry, overweight, dismal men her age helped.
Word salad, the Frisco Ninja reminded himself. “Not quite! Flight of ideas okay! Grandma think I am mix-up college kid! Want boom-boom still!” He whispered into his cell phone: “Curious predicament!”
“I could hear,” Ross Valley said. He promised a solution.

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One Response to “53 Fair-limbed youth”

  1. Peter Smith Says:

    “…and that was that.” I don’t know how you keep doing it and making it better, but who am I to ask. It is so complex, so rich, so layered and still building. May this saga never end.

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