"I hope you invested it wisely."
"I got these and a pop."
"So, what are your plans for today?"
"Oh, Nuthin. Nuthin."
Why does everyone keep saying that?
"Nuthin."
"What ya doin?"
"Nuthin."
"What's new?"
"Nuthin."
He smokes more than anyone would possibly need to. Shouldn't criticize. The fingers closest to the cigarette are stained darkest. Same pattern on his teeth. Got to quit. His father told him to stop for years, then died from lung cancer. You could say it matters, you could say it doesn't. Is one death better than another? Why live at all?
Loucarla comes out the screen door. Pretty. Petite. Farm girl. Blue jeans. Mane of bangs and curls. No chance with her either. She announces, "Dinner," in Snowchester accent.
In Snowchester, they say Snowchester in one syllable, Snochstr, "I'm from Snochstr. Are you from Snochstr?"
Dennis has a deep voice. "Kiss it."
Pretty Tony says, "Bust dat out da frame."
Burt pronounces certain words funny, "I hae a gir-frien in Can-ton O-hi-o."
The cake! Run in, and take it out. Just right. Dump it on a platter. It comes out in a perfect steaming dome. Cut it into two, four, eight, sixteen pie slices. Place it in the center of the long dining room table.
Get a good seat. Survey the room. This house is a mansion. Huge rooms. Fancy moldings. Ornate ceiling ridges ripple around the real crystal chandelier with four energy saver bulbs. A hundred years ago, one super rich guy had all this for himself. Now it's a group home.
The whole neighborhood was super rich. Each mansion had a whole block of land for itself. Over the years, smaller houses were built in between. But it's still nice, and even the regular houses qualify as mansions.
Ten people sit on each side. Rich, the director, tall, with black hair and beard, says, "A secret Manicotti family recipe."
Pat asks, "You made the lasagna, Rich? It's good."
Burt says, "Very . . . good, Richhh."
Pretty Tony, next to me, glances at Loucarla and whispers, "I tapped dat in the phone room." He smiles big. "Went right up to her and pulled down her pants." He isn't serious; I don't think. I say to Loucarla, "The tuna is delicious."
"Thank you. The trick is fresh garlic. . . The hot dogs have half the fat."
Morality compels me to speak, "And what about carcinogens? Do they have half the carcinogens?"