Old Slim

He held his left lat with his big right hand and doubled over, gasping

with laughter, struggling to keep the fruit jar in his left hand from


Old Slim Remington finished a full gallon of Petri fortified white and

watched TV evangelists every night of the year. Bought us beer and

never took a cut.

Old Slim’d done some boxing.

“Slim,” we’d say, “heard you had the champ worried.”

“Yeah. Third round. Thought he’d killed me. Wha, whee, wheeze.”

After high school, I moved to Seattle. My mom sent me the obit:

Remington, Leonard. Retsil groundskeeper, age 36. Stroke.

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