Twig talks by LIJ Red |
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What's all the racket? Oh, here comes the old man, I think I'll go wind around his feet as he fights those stairs. And sis and buttbreath are with him--sis being Wadd, the black feline hairball, and the other being Miko, a lame cretin--uh, canine. "Howdy, Twig." he addresses me. "You know, I just did the math--us four are a hundred and twelve years old." He does crap like that when something bugs him. I'm sure we'll know what, and soon. He tears off a bit of a cold, pale, limp, flabby, tasteless,--I could go on and on--slice of processed turkey and hands it to me and throws the rest on the cretin's bed- a towel that smells suspiciously of dog urine. The cretin is obsessed with labeling his possessions. "Saw Jehu in the Wail Mart. We talked a bit and he told me Deepstick was dead. Dead for years now." he says to the lot of us. Like we cared. "He was one of my crew back in the circle A days at the Riverbend Plant. A good ten years younger than I." I finish the bite of stuff and hop up on the footlocker by his bed. It's my bed. I sit on all my folded legs and give him the long, steady look that makes him think I am listening. Wadd curls up on the floor out in the center of the room, just like a black cowflop. Miko sprawls at the old man's feet. Soon he begins to snore. Loudly. "Deepstick did give me the best laugh I got from years of filling out that report sheet on crew attendance. He laid out of work one day, and did not call in like he was supposed to. His twin brother Dipsnot was in the office--" The old man stopped, his face reflecting a sour memory. "That's what the axe man told me when he said my job was history. 'You let your office become a lounge for your crew. You worked with them too long. We of management wonder if you are on our side or theirs.'" He pushes down on the power button for the Acer thing. Then goes on, "They were fraternal twins, far from identical. Looked like brothers, maybe. Dipsnot said 'And he didn't call? Shove me yer phone, I'll call him.' "He dialed Cricket, the receptionist, and gave her the number--'twas in the next county. Then he said to the phone, 'Hey! Let me talk to Deepstick. We need an excuse for him being out of work today.' He looked at the phone and hung it up with a smile." "I looked at him with lifted brows. He said 'I goofed. When I said he wasn't here, she said "Why that son of a bitch." and hung up.' He sighed. 'He's at it again.'" The old man grins wryly, and leans back in that evil tail-killing chair that rolls around creating misery. "Deepstick is dead, most of the crew is dead, the mill itself is dead. America's talking out of it's head, and will soon be dead, I expect. It's starting to rain, Twig. Let's post something on Fanstory." He starts hunt'n'pecking so I curl up and it's lights out...
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LIJ Red
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