Then Elvis said, “Ducky, you remember that slipped disc problem I had? The doctor told me that when I wrenched my ankle it might put that disc out again. And it apparently has gone out on me. I’m told by that rich bastard, I mean my doctor, that if I don’t get flat on my back for a couple of weeks, I could be paralyzed.” He turned from Ducky to me. “Son, I’m sorry, but I can’t take you and the car to Denver. I hoped we could do it; I really did.”
Ducky didn’t bother to wait. “Well, Buster, I’m really sorry to hear that, and maybe it’s just the gin speaking, but listen…Since she, I mean he, Brandon, isn’t going to be safe here, how about if she, I mean he, damn it, and I take the car to Denver? Ha-ha, maybe we’ll go see the same gender therapist as his old grandfather while we’re there! Do you like that idea, Brandon baby?”
Brandon was so excited. “I drive! Me drive! I get to drive?”
Ducky just nodded. “If it’s okay with Elvis here, yes.”