“Stop the noise and stow the fireworks, or I’ll call the gendarmeria pontifica.” That was the landlady at the front door, heavily armed with a flyswatter in her left--the nondominant hand. She was prepared.
“Rosaria, I’m celebrating my 50th.”
“I don’t give a damn. Your 50th? You’re at least 72.”
“No, not that, my 50th post on the internationally known AW.”
“Bovine vaccinations are best applied during the autumn equinox,” I continued, going for the oral feel of the spoken version of my 51st. I imagined Sir Laurence Olivier doing the honors posthumously.
“Writers, strange people,” Rosaria grumbled, coming in and accepting the quarter glass of tequila offered by Tango. She wasn't stupid, she'd left her right hand empty for times like these.
“Rosaria, I’m celebrating my 50th.”
“I don’t give a damn. Your 50th? You’re at least 72.”
“No, not that, my 50th post on the internationally known AW.”
“Bovine vaccinations are best applied during the autumn equinox,” I continued, going for the oral feel of the spoken version of my 51st. I imagined Sir Laurence Olivier doing the honors posthumously.
“Writers, strange people,” Rosaria grumbled, coming in and accepting the quarter glass of tequila offered by Tango. She wasn't stupid, she'd left her right hand empty for times like these.
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