Ken Mead: Narratives, Part 2

Green Lake Park, Seattle
Saturday, November 24 | 4:37 pm

…and then she says to me, ‘I’ll take a gander if I want to!’

Mmm hmm.

Yeah, she was a real firecracker. Name was Cayenne, if you can believe it. You ever been in love, Carl?

…have I been…say, don’t you want this piece of bread?

That’s what I like about you, Carl. No nonsense. Get right to the point. People these days have got too many choices. Slows them down. Tires ’em out. I grew up next to a farm. You know what those farmers in Ottawa drank, Carl? Milk. Just the good ‘ol fashioned white stuff. Nobody thought about whether they wanted 2% or fat-free. I don’t gripe over whether somebody’s got sourdough or whole-wheat. Someone’s giving me bread, I’ll eat it, Carl. No questions.

…ah, yeah, well so, I can hold my hand a bit lower if it’s not easy for you to reach…

You’re doing great, Carl.

Can I get some down here?

Waddles, don’t be greedy. You ate that kid’s waffle cone earlier.

I’ll just, uh, drop it on the ground here and you guys can sort it out.

Waddles…don’t even think about it. Anyway, bread is bad for the duck gut.  I read it on Huff Po.

Fancy you saying that, Mr. bread-is-bread.

…I’ll just, uh, leave you two and…

You leaving that bread, too, Carl?

I think I should take up fishing.