|
 Windy walked out away from his house, but kept his
mask in his pocket. There was never any quit when Windy decided to
whip something, and this time it was that coronavirus. Our little
valley had pretty much shut down, just like almost everyone else’s.
For the loquacious Windy Wilson, whose most precious word was
“audience” it was an especially tough time. Stay home. Wash your
hands. Wear your mask, and don’t go where there are more than five
people.
Well, that wiped out any visit to the Mule Barn truck stop coffee
shop. So what was left? He couldn’t even corner any school kids
coming home from class, because they weren’t going to school right
now.
So Windy went home, petted his dog, Ramses, and picked up the phone.
“Hi Mamie. Windy here.”
“Hi Windy,” she said, cheerfully, “what’s up?”
“It’s this danged coronary virus goin’ round,” he said, “they tell
ever-body to stay home and don’t do nothin’. Quarantine, they said.
So I was a wonderin’ if you would like to quarantine with me ‘til
they get this thing whipped.” [to top of second
column] |
“You mean,” said the very
pleasant holistic widow, “live in the same house?”
“Well, we don’t hafta go that
far. I could go home and stay there overnight and then we can
quarantine-up again in the mornin.’”
She chuckled. “Windy, you are a wonderful guy, but I don’t think it
works that way. Quarantine means staying home alone.”
“With just my dog?”
“Afraid so.”
“Wonder why them doctors invented this here virus in the first
place. Sure ain’t fun.”
[Text from file received from
Slim Randles]
Brought to you by the nice people who call up friends and relatives
just to ask how they’re doing.
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