Slim Randles
“You hear ‘bout Andy’s barn?” asked Dud. We nodded and had another sip of morning coffee.
“You s’pose it was all globally warmed up?”
“Beats me, Windy. Could be.”
“Buncha that,” Windy said. “On the news and all over the place. Fires and rivers goin’ over the bank and killin’ cows. Some places, they say, got so hot it caused a earthquake and shook people’s houses down.”
And all of this, we knew, was going on faster than the paper could print the news. Hey, you turn on the teevee, somebody else just lost everything they had.
“Oughta be a list a guy could prescribe to, ya know?”
Doc looked up from his eggs and toast. “What kinda list, Windy?”
“Oh, you know, Doc. If we’re gonna have these here destructions, oughta be able to add Miller’s old milkin’ barn to the victim’s list. That thing ain’t been safe for years, and the kids play in it all day.”
“Request destruction?”
“Well, kinda.”
“We understand your point, Windy,” Doc said, “but I think maybe all we can do is be helpful until we can figure out all this craziness. Thought I’d go help Andy clean up the ashes at his old barn.”
“Ya s’pose it’s ‘bout like a friend test? Ya know, see how much of a friend we can be when ever-thin’s cavin’ in?”
We nodded and sipped. One of those kinds of heavy thinking mornings.
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