The dusty streets had a fin de seicle look about them or at least appeared so to Jim O'Toole, who preferred to live in the old West through the pages of dime novels than the garish present. He looked up wonderingly at the sky, clouds like soft down pillows, a comforting sort of overcast. It seemed hard evidence that no one was having more fun than him. His daughter Jen was down from 'Frisco and they'd secured peach juice from the tree out back along with rum from the back of the pantry.
"So I'm taking Latin at school. I've taken on the poet Ovid as my principle course of study," she said while shaking the tumbler of ice and peachy rum. "Publius Ovidius Naso. My defacto boyfriend."
Her father looked at her and smiled.
"You're sure a chip off the old block. I live with the James brothers and you the Roman poets. I won't ask you what you're going to do with your degree."
"In a past life I cared about money. I find it degree-gious that people look at college as a preparation for life instead of life as a preparation for college."
"You always were the romantic sort."
July 29, 2010
Fiction for a Friday
Posted by TS at 4:01 PM