Chat by Archer Mayor
By Archer Mayor
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It was a strategic decision, based on the chance that he’d be spending a lot of time here, which, sadly, was what he was anticipating. Unless things deteriorated even more. He looked across at his mother, lying peacefully in bed. At least he had that to hold on to. There were no tubes stuck down her throat at the moment, and only a single IV dangling from a metal pole beside her. She just looked asleep, aside from the ugly bruise extending from her left temple. Soon, he’d been told, if she stayed this way beyond some short-term deadline, a feeding tube and oxygen would be introduced.
If Joe were to bet on it, she had the governorship in her sights. ” she asked. ” He had a split second to respond correctly, and almost inevitably chose poorly. ” Her comeback drove home his error. “I know that’s not true for you, too, but I won’t get in your way. I promise. I would just like it if you said it was okay,” she said. ” He scratched his forehead, thinking a rap with his knuckles might have been more appropriate. “Gail, you’d never be in the way. They both love you, and I could do with the help.
Something like eight times out of ten, I’m right,” she told him. “It’s hardly rocket science, but the worse the toenails are, the worse is the decedent’s economic situation. This clearly only becomes useful when a person’s other outward indicators are conflicting, as with a bum dressed in a fine suit. Which,” she added, “is a little of what you’ve got here—a man on the skids, but whose toenails reflect a regular, if nonprofessional, attention to personal appearance. ” He laughed, shaking his head at the phone.