It's been a busy couple of days, not least with editing a behind schedule magazine. Imagine staring at a screen and asking yourself what does that even ****ing mean? #delete.
You see, the Red Death's turned all the writers into intellectuals. Annoying. Still, it's not been so busy that you can't take time out on the porch for Evening Prayer and gentle reflection.
Which is exactly what I was doing when Roy came by, sent from LR on a courier mission. Envelope duly passed on, Roy explained his homemade mask, he plans to "get in front of of any dam virus and I see you sittin' there so I hand this over. An' I tell your son, make friends wisely."
Yes indeed and I told him that the Private was due to ship out to South Korea at the end of June, but that didn't register, "Miss Ray, she gave me a shot of wine. Strong! But I'm not going to lift a can on my porch. Nossir. Every fool be knockin' down my door. I avoid trouble. Yes, I do."
With that, and after ten minutes more of the same, Roy went back from whence he'd come. Moral of the story? More and better servants? No. Serve to lead.
To Hell with Reconstruction,
LSP
