Michael Malone - Weebly

Sammy, you never could let yourself laugh at folks.
Should, you know. Laugh at me, and yourself, too. All
of us and our antics must be pretty humorous to
Somebody. Might as well go along with the joke." Miss
Dingley threaded her napkin through its heavy silver
ring.
"Some things don't lend themselves to laughter."
"You're a tad on the sanctimonious side, Sammy.
So was your great-grandma Bridget. That same prissy,
pursed-mouth look. For a parlormaid born in the slums
of Limerick, Grandma was an odious priss at times."
Smalter's ears turned a dark blood red. Pushing the
heavy chair in, he stood beside it and looked over at the
woman he called "Aunt." She stared into her coffee.
Finally a sigh rumbled through her lips. "Pay no
attention, Sammy. Bad night for us both. I'm old.
Mean. Angry I'm old. Impatient. Legs don't work.
Hands can hardly unbutton my clothes. Be back in
diapers soon. Have to hire a nurse to change them.
Then you tell me the Strummer girl's gone."
Ramona hit the arm of her wheelchair. "I'm here.
She's gone. And that monstrous Almighty Idiot God…"