….did hear about the rancher, not ranching anymore, who was enjoying some monthly gas and oil checks ….
He’d sit with three other ranchers, all off the cattle and grain, onto the gas and oil checks, in the DQ on Main Street, not far from the branch bank and post office.
Three walked in, out of the wind, cold and snow flurries and took their seats, and immediately Kathy brought them coffee.
“Hey,” one rancher said, “where is Art?
“Didn’t you hear?,” asked Kathy.
“No, what?,” the tallest rancher asked.
“Sorry to be the one to tell you. Heart attack, dead before the ambulance from the fire department came. I live near the department and heard it race out. When it came back three hours later, I put on my robe and walked over to the guys, and they told me they were too late. I think they said his nephew called them.”
The three put down their coffee cups and stared into the street. The snow was sticking to their pickups ….
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And over in southeast Texas, two men and women were at a main table.
“That’s awful and tacky. Look, Morris, the guy who used to site there died yesterday afternoon. He was married to my second cousin, who called an aunt, and the aunt called me.
Just look at those three. Maybe they don’t know, but I heard the waitress tell them when they ordered, and still they took his seat, the two next to it, and the whole table, no respect.
“Someone should have turned the chair up, left it, una silla vacia, but no, business is business. I don’t blame the waitress. I blame them. I know she told them, and look over at them, like nothing happened, jerks. Yet, maybe the waitress, wonder how she knew so soon, could have turned the seat up.
“I’d never sit there. Would you?”
“No, no way.”
“Right, I say ‘silla vacia.’”
