Harry's Medley

Everyone's gone to their houses
Now we're alone at last.

A break from the awful. Distasteful but tasty. Been so long, been so rough since Big Finkie checked into prison, and checked out of life soon thereafter. Then Ronnie goes skitz and checks out like his dad. Too much, too soon.

Only feeling left is a tingle in the dark damp cave. Ripe for spelunking.

Everyone's gone to their houses
Now we're alone at last.

"I'll help you clean up, Mrs. Finkelstein." A good time to try something new like cleaning up.

"Thanks, Harry. I can use the help." Feeling guilty, guilty, guilty like the Barbra song. But lust strikes like lightning and at the most inopportune times.

Awkward looks exchanged. Vibes, lots of vibes.

"Excuse me, where do I put this? Where do I put that?"

"Hee hee hee. Right here," she says as she brushes up against him.

No words, no words. Harry plays Brando in Last Tango. All that's missing is Paris.

Nothing left to say. Taking this to our graves. Don't tell anyone. We'll deal with Ronnie when the time comes. In the hereafter.

Everyone's gone to their houses
Now we're alone at last.

It's a dirty secret that we vow not to share
Most of all we've got to hide it from the kids.
Here's to you, Mrs. Finkelstein.

"Life just happens," she says. "That's it."

"There's no narrative," he says. "Until it's over, that is."

"And then who cares?"

"Is this immoral?" he says while lighting up a cigarette.

"Smoking is bad for you."

"But it's not a question of morality."

"Do I look like a philosophy major?"

"Not with your clothes off."

Moment of deep reflection. "Think it's time to go, Harry."

"Let me finish my smoke first."

"Finish it outside."

Here's to you Mrs. Finkelstein
Heaven has a place for those who pray.
Hey, hey, hey.