Sudetenland Tales by Edward Drobinski - HTML preview
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Sudetenland Tales
Page 70
And then a voice rang out.
“Hey Neil! Play somethin’ we can dance to, ya bald ass Nuck!”
Everyone turned. In the back, near the vending machine that only dispensed prune juice, sat Edna Rosenthal; former lounge singer, lifelong wisecracker, queen of the flamingo wallpaper wing.
“‘Hey Hey, My My’? More like ‘No No, Why Try!’”
Neil paused mid strum. “I uh; I like that one. Mind if I use it?”
“Only if you pay me in Werther’s Originals!” Edna shot back, brandishing her cane like a fencing foil.
He tried to continue. Another heckle.
“You fell over before the first verse! That’s not a stage dive, it’s a slip-n-slide into osteoporosis!”
Neil chuckled. “Tough crowd. Any requests?”
“Sure,” Edna said, wheeling forward. “How ‘bout not sounding like a haunted toaster?”
Gerald dropped his pudding cup in shock. Mildred gasped loud enough to wake someone in the memory care wing.