Yesterday was sunny and warm when I started on my daily walk to JC's house.
A vehicle slowed down and pulled up beside me, a man leaned out the window of his pickup and asked in a familiar voice, “How far up ya goin?”
Now, I should explain that I'm pretty good at recognizing actors in old movies or identifying the narrator's voice in a documentary, and I swear, the guy looking at me with a smile on his face was Randy Quaid! His face, his voice, and his lopsided grin all said, “I'm Randy Quaid!”
“Uh, I'm walking for the exercise,” I stammered, “but thanks anyway!”
He waved and went on his way upriver.
I know that Randy Quaid is supposed to be in Canada seeking asylum from “star whackers” but he either has an exact double or he's secretly visiting Oregon.
I found JC already sitting on his deck enjoying the sun with two iced glasses at the ready, waiting for some wine to be poured.
“This is probably the last wine I'll be able to drink for a while,” he said, “my new prescription says,'no alcohol' and I have to start taking it tomorrow.”
A little while later he looked up at the sky, threw his arms wide and yelled, “I'm not dead yet!”
I thought that maybe he'd given up his atheism and was talking to God, but when I looked up I saw the three vultures circling above us.
It was one of those days.
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