| Porous the punchline spoken through wads of lettuce at lunchtime by the septuagenarian vegetarian who has never flashed a peace sign, nor could distinguish it from a Vulcan salute. He’s not the font of the jokes he paces in front of the mirror— even the one liners are anonymous, traffic conversation like air or money. Not to him. No sooner he hears one he likes, he owns it. Spins the extended bits out with panache, skips an extra extra extra beat from the end, bringing out in the eyes and bellies of his morning shuffleboard or pill- buddies, laughter in rising cascades that mistaking each pause as ultimate begins to agitate the rows of green jello in the thunder of many dentures exploding into pure guffawing. Copyright @ 2014 by Ravi Shankar . Used with permission of the author. |
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