Monday, March 02, 2015
“Just how do Lesbos do it?”
asked Ambrose.
“I don’t know, but they know how to press
each others double-hot buttons.”
“Tongue them, you mean.”
All this, while maneuvering the cables in
place to lift the 40s era safe from the floor,
out the place from whence the skylight had
been removed, and down to the street.
Ambrose continued the operation from
there. Maxy-O had jumped into the crane
on the roof, and awaited his instructions via
walky-talky.
Everything cautiously perfect. Then a
cable snapped, the ends looking like
bits of lightning.
The deep green safe hung at an angle
for a few beats, while the blue sky
darkened.
It slipped and plunged, flattening the
fleeing Ambrose.
They took him home and slid him under
the door to his wife, who, of course, had
never seen him that way.
Couldn’t resist all that last, and the Lesbians
should be pleased.
Labels: accident, coordinating work, death, joke, lesbian, marriage, work
