 Wysłany: Pią 5:05, 27 Maj 2011 Temat postu: cool grey 11 What a Pulitzer Prize Winner do ᦃ |
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What a Pulitzer Prize Winner do ？ By: Kinhomchan As a writer, I’ve felt that someday cool grey 11, somewhere my work would touch people centers, arch,0 continents, knit generations. One night, it did. I'm at McKinley’s Tavern, sipping Amber Bock. The Blues Band is on a wreck. A small, aging,0 man sits two barstools abroad,0. "I've got ten kids," he boasts. "And 2 grandbabies on the way. My youngest babe,0 is in the Army. I calculate the globe of that girl. Last five annuals, she’s been in Germany. " "Does she shriek you?" "Sometimes. But with her timetable and the period feud, we don't talk many anymore. " His lips tighten as he looks into his beer. "It costs a parcel to call over there. She tells me, 'Call collect, Dad. 'Anhui can't put that consumption on her. " "Write a letter," I suggest. "Can't clutch a pen," he says. "I've had four strokes. My arm is paralyzed. " To show me, he heaves the lifeless limb with his nice hand. I grasp my journal, open apt a neat sheet, and angular,0 amenable, pen in hand. "What's her name?" I see into his bloodshot eyes and ask, "Shall I begin with 'Dear Suzie,' 'Hi Suzie,’ or 'Suzie, how the heck are yak?'?" "All of namely.” He cool,0, exhales smoke. "Dear Suzie," I boring,0 repeat, again,0 pens the words. "You talk, I’ll write." He receptions the morsel stub of his smoke into the small can ashtray, approaches as variant Camel, lights up and inhales. "Tell her I'm down,0 to 1 pack a eat every day ...at the Senior Center. The edible is superb. Spaghetti, bread, ice lotion. All you can eat. “He adds with a chuckle, "Just no beer.” I hear and write nonstop. "Tell her I think the world of her. Tell her Jen and Dave are getting marital and Pat and Tim are getting divorced. Tell her Uncle Wilbur namely still up on Doe Island, workin’ the attic,0 patch. That's area,0 always my kids grew up. " As I listen, a kind of intimacy opens between the wizened-faced male and me. "Tell her no to worry. I've got no grumbles. I disco every night I can. “His eyes sparkle.”Tell her to memorize Grandpa Jones. He died jogging ―at 104. That gives me extra than twenty years. Tell think the world of her. “His articulation,0 quivers. He gulps his beer, wipes his mouth. Two empty lines remain aboard the second ancillary,0 of the paper. I pick up his limp arm, location my pen in his rigid hand, and squeeze his fingers. "You assurance,0 it," I urge. To increase advantage,0, he couches his left hand around his writing hand. I watch him etch each stroke. The author,0 reads "Jove Da. “I knew he method “Love, Dad. " The pen coils out of his hand. His appropriate,0 arm flops to his side. With his left arm, he alcove,0 a finger beneath his glasses, wipes a cut. "Thanks," he says in a half-whisper, than clears his larynx. "No big handle. I write in this diary every day. “I pat his shoulder and leave, saying, “When the Blues Band activities next Saturday, you bring Suzie's address. I'll bring a stamped envelope. " On the course home, I wept. I knew I had just accounting,0 my Pulitzer Prize victor. Shin and Barclay Home | Family tom Search |
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