In room 420 at St. Mary’s Hospital: Lucky Louie’s lips were pursed, his bloodshot brown eyes protruded slightly from sunken sockets; a lightning bolt of a vein throbbed in his forehead from monumental mental stress. He stared intently at his coffee cup on the bed stand.
Fortunato walked in. “Uncle Louie -- what, what’s the matter?”
“You can speak up the guy in the other bed died yesterday.”
“Mrs. Catalina? She had gout.”
“Really? Huh? Thought it was a guy. The voice -- I was trying to make that coffee cup float through the air and land on my belly so I didn’t have to move my ass over to the table.” He raised an arm with intravenous tubes attached.
Fortunato chuckled. “It’s only two feet away.” He opened the curtain between bed spaces with a quick ripping noise, making Lucky Louie’s immediate world larger, and moved from the back of the bed, or from Uncle Louie’s aft, forward. The nephew picked up the cup, and gently, ever so gently, handed it to his uncle. “Your, uh, teleportation didn’t
“Did work.” Lucky Louie sipped his coffee and grinned.
The old man’s nephew sighed; then chuckled. “I guess it did. Got any coffee left?”
- from Lucky Louie, a short story by Kevin O'Kendley...
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