The Twilight of the Bums by Raymond Federman, George Chambers Page B

birds, said the Mick.
    Yes, replied the Frog, fishing is for women.
    And yet, they sat there on the rotting boards, each leaning on the piling between them.
    Across the river and through the trees, said the Frog.
    And a river runs through it, added the Mick.
    And yet, the spring day was warm, blooming dog flowers lining the bank, and the river ran fast with spring run-off.
    You know, said the Frog, I miss my mother.
    Me too, said the Mick, I miss my mother, and my father.
    Me too, said the Frog.
    And so, on this quiet soft day early in spring, the fishing went on, the two friends held their poles faithfully, neither man minding the bait, or the hook, or the occasional tug on the line.

HOT TEA IN GLASSES WITH LEMON
    This story the Yid told the Mick one evening as they sat at the dining room table in the Mick’s house and reminisced after a rather copious meal.
    It’s late in the afternoon. The Gestapo will be up shortly. They’ll sit with tante Rachel and the rest of the family at the dining room table drinking hot tea from tall glasses with slices of lemon floating in the tea, and they’ll nibble little pieces of gâteau. Their uniforms will be black, neat and slick, with Gestapo symbols sewn on the sleeves. Their big black Mercedes-Benz will be parked in front of the house. After they finish the gâteau, they’ll unbutton their jackets to show us their SS tattoos, then they’ll pull their revolvers out of their black holsters, aim them at us and shoot. The half-empty glasses of tea will shimmer on the table before toppling over and the tea will get mixed with the blood of my family and drip from the table onto the oriental carpet. Me I will observe all this because I will be hiding under the dining room table, and that’s why I can tell you this story now, my dear friend, because you see they didn’t see me hiding under the table, picking up the crumbs of the gâteau .
    The Mick listened closely as the Yid revealed this story. After a considerable period of silence, it was the Mick’s turn to speak. He began: It is late in the afternoon. The Gestapo will be up shortly …

DEUTSCH-LAND - DEUTSCH-LAND
GERM-ANY                  GERM-ANY
    Af-ter h-ear-ing the n-ews, the bums imme-dia-te-ly book-ed two seats oneway to Düssel-dorf. Tw-o s-eats one-way.
    (Wh-en o-ne a-chi-eves a cer-tain a-ge [we don’t spe-ci-fy] one is en-abl-ed to act w-ith true spon-ta-nei-ty.)
    T-wo ti-ckets first-clas-s to D. O-ne-way.
    The old bo-ys l-ike first cla-ss, the big con-so-le chairs, the end-less service, the pret-ty fli-ght at-ten-dant-s flit-ting a-bout them li-ke spar-rows, as if the old men had buck-ets of se-ed to br-oad-cast.
    (H-ey, did you get a snif-f of lit. in the last pas-s-age? Wasn-t some-thin-g a lit-tle lift-ed a-bout it?)
    The eld-er-lings en-joy the end-less suc-es-sion of fin-e wi-nes in first-class ac-com-mo-dat-ion, the re-al clo-th table-clo-ths and na-p-kins in fir-st class, and esp-ecia-lly tha-t lyr-I-cal sens-e of lo-ss ol-d men fe-el in the presence of wom-en of ju-ice.
    (Ah, wo-men o-f ju-I-ce!)
    The old buf-fs have not lo-st their brai-ns to-tall-y, ho-we-ver. The-y k-now en-ough to pur-po-se-ly le-ave the-ir seat-belts un-buck-led some-wha-t when the F-A’s scur-ry to ad-monish them as 9-11 hea-vy rot-ates at max-i-mum thru-st, the boy-s de-cla-re them-sel-ves hel-p-le-ss to bu-ckl-e up, this is their first fli-gh-t, they only spe-a-k Far-see, and hel-p m-e fir-st the other gu-y is fak-ing it. Ah, the sc-ent of avail-a-ble wome-n, so deli-ci-ous-ly unset-tl-ing. A-h, i-t i-s al-most be-tt-er in reco-l-l-ec-tion.
Bum 2:
Spea-k for you-r-self, ass-hol-e.
Bum 1:
I kn-ew ther-e was to-o much hy-phe-na-tion in this stor-y.
Bum 2:
Shut-up.
Bum 1:
O-K.
    O-ver the At-lant-ic non-stop, one-way, to Düs-sel-Dorf?
    Wa-rum rei-sen die Penner-men-chen zum Düssel-Dorf zu-ruck?
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â why