ryan reached for the rye bread as he darted his eyes at carol. "this meal looks fantastic mrs. blume." had sent them a he said with all the maturity he could muster. "you're very welcome ryan, we knew your father well." mr. blume picked at his peas silently without looking up. "yes ryan, your father was a dear friend, he'll be missed at the plant." the blume's christmas card every year, but this was the first time they had been invited to their home. "did you know my father well mr. blume?" ryan inquired. "for 12 years son, and he told me alot about you." carol gently wiped her mouth with her napkin, "why don't you tell ryan about one of your work trips with his father dear." mr. blume sat back in his highbacked chair placing his hands behind his neck, a smile crossed his lips, "vegas, 1997. your father was on a winning streak on the craps table at the sands hotel. he won 3 grand that night and blew it all on six russian hookers. we got jacked up on coke and strangled one of them and dumped her body in the desert. you're five years old now son, thought you should know."
2 comments:
As trite as this may sound, "Whatever happens in Vegas..." and you know the rest.
Actually, I fucking hate that cliche phrase. I don't think anything should ever stay in Vegas...except maybe the unclaimed, unnamed bodies which lie in the desert.
Yeah they grow up fast these days. Hell, 5's almost old!
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