One-legged Larry loved Leons. He sat at the end of the bar night after night drinking beer after beer, Miller Lites, loving and living the life. So what if he borrowed $40,000. or so for the privelage? He went to the North Carolina School of the Arts for screenwriting, and Hollywood was going to snap up his jewels as soon as he could get over his writer's block.
His bald head shone in the bar light as he shook his head slowly back and forth and told his tales ceaselessly as we scurried elegantly in and out, fetching fine wine and Dom for our Filet-Mignon-garganzola-dripping, calamrari-eating patrons. We smile and bob and banter with one-legged Larry while we play mental chess and make it look like a dance. We help one-legged Larry to the taxi night after night, clap him on the back, laughing dilagently at his inanities.
Larry loved us. We were the nicest, most beautiful people in the world, so wonderful he wanted to cross the bar and be one of us.
We tried to dissuade him. Larry didn't see the hustle in our bustle. He didn't play chess, mental or otherwise.
It was a disaster that shattered all Larry's illusions of Leons. Behind the scenes he is hurried, and scurried, bossed, scolded, and cussed to keep up as he sweats and crumbles, dragging his fake leg behind him. He was "one of us" for maybe an hour.
One-Legged Larry made me leery of working in the library. It is risky working in your favorite place. The curtain may fall away and your haven be lost. (We never saw Larry again.)
His bald head shone in the bar light as he shook his head slowly back and forth and told his tales ceaselessly as we scurried elegantly in and out, fetching fine wine and Dom for our Filet-Mignon-garganzola-dripping, calamrari-eating patrons. We smile and bob and banter with one-legged Larry while we play mental chess and make it look like a dance. We help one-legged Larry to the taxi night after night, clap him on the back, laughing dilagently at his inanities.
Larry loved us. We were the nicest, most beautiful people in the world, so wonderful he wanted to cross the bar and be one of us.
We tried to dissuade him. Larry didn't see the hustle in our bustle. He didn't play chess, mental or otherwise.
It was a disaster that shattered all Larry's illusions of Leons. Behind the scenes he is hurried, and scurried, bossed, scolded, and cussed to keep up as he sweats and crumbles, dragging his fake leg behind him. He was "one of us" for maybe an hour.
One-Legged Larry made me leery of working in the library. It is risky working in your favorite place. The curtain may fall away and your haven be lost. (We never saw Larry again.)
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