Apparently oblivious to everything, Blueberry lay with one foot caught between the rungs of the headboard and arms draped over the foot of the bed, like a corpse that had washed up from the bedroom floor. So Beezy squealed when he suddenly grabbed her passing ankle. She jumped on top of him, squishing the air from his lungs in a gutteral "wuff," and delivered a buffet of not-so-light punches across his back.
After a playful quarter-hour or so, Beezy rolled off Berry. She mussed his oily hair and scratched at his dandruff as he began to doze off again. "You should find a new roommate," Beezy said, making no attempt to lower her voice. As it happens, it didn't matter -- Gravor had remembered some work he had to do in the garden as soon as savage noises began emanating from the bedroom.
"Hum?" Blueberry asked without opening his eyes.
"Your roommate," she repeated. "He really brings this place down."
"Well, it's not like I can kick him out!" he laughed.
"Why not? Just tell him he has to find someplace new. Bossing everybody around like he owns the place...."
Blueberry took pride in telling the truth, especially when it was embarrassing for the listener. Part of him knew that Beezy would be most impressed by the true story of how he saved Gravor's life, then managed to spin it into a pretty boss living situation. Still, he liked the idea of owning a real house with a roof to offer lady guests instead of trying to lure them into the brush or an abandoned barn. Intoxicated by the toasty dreams of a languid morning in bed, he lied.
"I can't kick him out because he's family."
No comments:
Post a Comment