112 “Susie Darlin’ I thought you knew”

Without an instrument, there was no further purpose for the white haired beauty to remain in front of the Strollin’ Bluegrass Band. “Pipeline” was a quaint reminder of a bygone era in California culture, an “instrumental,” that is, a single record, known as a “45,” for radio airplay and personal purchase at a “record store,” which had no vocal part.
The white haired beauty was, as previously alluded to, mature. In fact, she was mature not only in years but in character, though a horn’ dog; and she happily vacated her place in front of the musicians who carried on the curious ensemble with quadraphonically dispensed Chantay surf manna in the spare-no-expense Plip Plop Coffe Shop.
She returned to her table. The graduate student on leave of absence remained, Uncle Joe was gone, in his place sat the cafe’s proprietor, who, she’d noticed as she sang rapturously, had eyes for her.
The rapture of song hadn’t ceased – it was as if there was a glow spilling heart to soul, not a drop lost – and the promise of concupiscent rapture never ceased; but she had presence of mind.
She’d decided the fallen away scholar was just a trifle over the line, unacceptably untidy. The youthful limbs, the smooth flesh, the hair of original color and density didn’t even out the master of disguise’s use of a condiment for tea to simulate earwax. Honey and unsightly build-up were nearly the same color. For the Frisco Ninja, it was another triumph of craft.
The mature beauty turned the nauseating diversion to another advantage.
With the same studied disbelief that had worked so well since she was in third grade, she asked the proprietor, “Do you really run the cafe – all by yourself?”
It made him feel so proud that he hooked his thumbs where his arms met his shoulders, and beamed.
Some of the Boomers snapped their bubblegum.
The Patron of the Arts’ roundtable discussion had perforce become desultory. Their topic presently was history’s greatest presidential campaign slogans. Jolly chuckles for a jolly good era confirmed their agreement that none was better than “I Like Ike.”
Robin Luke replaced “Pipeline.” Even Aunt Kar was mystified when baby Drew began to show the world how to do the Chalypso. But Kar thought, “His cabana clothes look so right. . . . Does he ever miss the mark?”

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