Delays

Jenny, I'm resubmitting the Bernie story. It's the one where he finds a missing Army disability check in the junk drawer. The homecoming parade is longer (comically tedious) this time, and there's more going on at his sister's house. There's still a few things I have to work out yet, or at least get a feeling for. The following is part of a longer story, and the narrator is in his early twenties. He might drink too much. I don't know.

The movie theater is okay for now, but I can't see working there much longer. It's an old place to begin with; kind of cool and semi-dumpy upstairs. The basement, though, is a maze of rooms and passageways lit by bare bulbs hanging from the ceiling. The guy who runs the place is either dumb or crazy, I don't know which. He writes this dumb-ass poetry to Laura, one of the ticket girls. She can't be more than eighteen, nineteen. If you ask me, it's a trainwreck waiting to happen, and I don't want to be around when it does.

Last Thursday, Barabara mentioned that she and Don would be spending a night at Detroit International because of a schedule delay. She wasn't too happy about it, either.

Bob