My Keister barely got us to Snob Hill and Casa Nova, my granddad’s estate.
Hoover, the butler, answered the door ( though no one heard it ask anything).
He directed us to the ballroom where Randy Jim was shooting baskets with his Army Bolt 45.
Hoover brought us drinks, a Schmaltz (“The beer that is already one too many”) for granddad, an Old Jack Horner for me and an Absent for Auteur Flambow.
We toasted the bread basket laying gut shot on the floor and some Mad Gazelle from Arms And Tears, they knew in the old daze.