"Would you like to order desert?" asked the man in the tweed jacket. My keen awareness of my surroundings kicked in immediately: This question seemed out of place... possibly because I was half asleep on a midnight bus to Utah.
"No..." I said hesitantly, confident that my leg was being pulled harder than the groin muscle of an elderly, out-of-practice dwarven kick-boxer.
After a moment of silence, I soon realized that during my in-the-moment, lengthy comparison between my condition as a potential con-mark and the difficulties of being a small martial arts professional, I had taken so long to answer that the man in the tweed jacket had begun to suspect Forrest Gump could easily best me in a battle of wits, if not comma-spliced, run-on sentences.
It seemed like a good time to allow his train of thought to build up steam, so I disregarded the nagging feeling that modern trains no longer run on steam and commenced to grinning like I'd just watched a donkey buck a high school bully through a stained-glass portrait of our lady of blessed irony.
He looked at me.
"I'm Ed." he said.
"Neat." I said.
And that's it. Nothing else happened.
TSN
1 comment:
Hilarious!
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