Here's something you might be interested in.
I was leaning against the building smoking a cigarette. I heard the sound of jangling keys, I looked up and saw old Paul standing at the elevator. I waited for him.
He stepped out onto the ground floor and saw me walking towards him. His face twisted into a big grin, “Let me tell you,” he said. “About a show I saw at two o’clock in the morning.”
“A show, on television?” I ask.
“In your dreams?” I prompt. I know that at two o’clock in the morning old Paul is asleep in his chair with a book over his face.
He nods yes, and continues his story.
“I was watching a trans-gendered variety show, and the song they were singing was an old song.” He stops and looks at me expectantly. Old Paul enjoys making his listeners guess what he is thinking. I always play along; he knows I enjoy when he is provocative.
I shake my head; I cannot possibly guess this one.
He stands tall, takes a deep breath, and he sings in a shaky voice, “Yes, we have no bananas.”
I cackled with laughter. He got me once again.
"You said it was an old song," I said. " You didn't say it was a song from the last century."
Now it was his turn to cackle with laughter. Old Paul and I are neighbors, and these silly conversations enforce our shared bond. We both escaped death last year. That means I'm hard to kill too.
I was leaning against the building smoking a cigarette. I heard the sound of jangling keys, I looked up and saw old Paul standing at the elevator. I waited for him.
He stepped out onto the ground floor and saw me walking towards him. His face twisted into a big grin, “Let me tell you,” he said. “About a show I saw at two o’clock in the morning.”
“A show, on television?” I ask.
“In your dreams?” I prompt. I know that at two o’clock in the morning old Paul is asleep in his chair with a book over his face.
He nods yes, and continues his story.
“I was watching a trans-gendered variety show, and the song they were singing was an old song.” He stops and looks at me expectantly. Old Paul enjoys making his listeners guess what he is thinking. I always play along; he knows I enjoy when he is provocative.
I shake my head; I cannot possibly guess this one.
He stands tall, takes a deep breath, and he sings in a shaky voice, “Yes, we have no bananas.”
I cackled with laughter. He got me once again.
"You said it was an old song," I said. " You didn't say it was a song from the last century."
Now it was his turn to cackle with laughter. Old Paul and I are neighbors, and these silly conversations enforce our shared bond. We both escaped death last year. That means I'm hard to kill too.