“It’s going to take more than your son to kill me off, apparently.”
“Excellent!” he exclaimed. “We’ll wait for you just outside.”
“I’m afraid my car isn’t—”
“I’m sure your car will be perfectly adequate.”
They collected their purchases and ambled off.
I’d swear to God they were the oddest people I ever knew, but I ain’t big on swearing to God, so I’ll just say it takes all sorts and leave it at that. 59: Not Sure I Care
The conversation moved rather woodenly from one topic to the next: the weather, the content of our daily newspaper (“thin,” Mr. Ledbetter opined), their recent visit to the Tupelo Automobile Museum, their visit to the hardware store down the block where Elvis bought his first guitar, their frustration at the hotel’s spotty Internet service. Not a word was said concerning Jackson Ledbetter, the DHS, crippled women in wheelchairs, rehab, peeing in a cup.
It couldn’t last, of course.