The Big Bright Green Pleasure Machine (Josh)
Mar 2, 2012 12:11:44 GMT -5
Post by Dr. Sean Neville on Mar 2, 2012 12:11:44 GMT -5
Friday night marked the beginning of the weekend. Because it was somewhat warmer out, Sean thought that perhaps he and Josh could do something exciting this weekend. Granted, “exciting” was relative when a fifty-four-year-old and a fifty-one-year-old were involved, but it remained a possibility.
Saint Patrick’s Day was two weeks away, which meant that the telepath would also have to decorate the house this weekend. While he didn’t attach any personal significance to the holiday, he was Irish-American, and the holiday was particularly cultural. He would stock up on beer and hard liquor this weekend to mark the occasion, and in two weeks, he would make his traditional corned beef and cabbage for supper.
That was in two weeks, however. Tonight’s supper had consisted of salmon, rice, and mixed vegetables, and the evening appeared to be more sedate. After clearing the table and washing the dishes, the two men had settled in the living room with the platter of brownies Josh had baked, an easy listening station on the radio, and a glass of wine and a bottle of beer.
The telepath had the New York Times’ crossword puzzle, which he had nearly completed. Josh had been reading the latest issue of Newsweek. When the attorney finished, he tossed the magazine aside and went over to the nearest bookshelf to peruse. A moment later, Sean heard “I never noticed these before,” followed by shuffling of books.
A moment later, he felt the sofa shift with Josh’s weight, and he saw his partner holding a stack of books. Not just any books, but yearbooks.
The one at the top was from his senior year at Hammel.
“I keep them for posterity,” he explained, folding up his newspaper. Posterity explained most of the accumulated items in the attic as well.
Saint Patrick’s Day was two weeks away, which meant that the telepath would also have to decorate the house this weekend. While he didn’t attach any personal significance to the holiday, he was Irish-American, and the holiday was particularly cultural. He would stock up on beer and hard liquor this weekend to mark the occasion, and in two weeks, he would make his traditional corned beef and cabbage for supper.
That was in two weeks, however. Tonight’s supper had consisted of salmon, rice, and mixed vegetables, and the evening appeared to be more sedate. After clearing the table and washing the dishes, the two men had settled in the living room with the platter of brownies Josh had baked, an easy listening station on the radio, and a glass of wine and a bottle of beer.
The telepath had the New York Times’ crossword puzzle, which he had nearly completed. Josh had been reading the latest issue of Newsweek. When the attorney finished, he tossed the magazine aside and went over to the nearest bookshelf to peruse. A moment later, Sean heard “I never noticed these before,” followed by shuffling of books.
A moment later, he felt the sofa shift with Josh’s weight, and he saw his partner holding a stack of books. Not just any books, but yearbooks.
The one at the top was from his senior year at Hammel.
“I keep them for posterity,” he explained, folding up his newspaper. Posterity explained most of the accumulated items in the attic as well.