“Don’t look at me like that,” Kathy said, sipping her screwdriver. To himself, but aloud, he said, “You have bumped the door of life open with your big, dense head. And now it can’t be closed.” “What’s that from?” Kathy asked. “From my life.” “But it’s like poetry.” “If you watched my show,” he said, “you’d know I come up with sparklers like that every so often.” Appraising him calmly, Kathy said, “I’m going to look in the TV log and see if you’re listed.” She set down her screwdriver, fished among discarded newspapers piled at the base of the wicker table.
Still liked this
