a little drink
Have you seen the colonel’s little monkey? No, seriously. He must have gotten it on one of his trips. He put a babushka on its head, tied the way an old woman would wear it.
The colonel licks his finger and thumb. Three short, sharp snaps and the monkey comes. One little hand perfectly balancing a large crystal decanter, the other a glass. Only once did the monkey ever spill any. And then the colonel spent the rest of the night listening to Bach fugues and beating it with his belt.
The colonel takes a sip of his drink then puts it down. He begins clapping his hands. The monkey starts doing a little dance. He claps faster and the monkey speeds up the steps of his dance. Beads of sweat appear on the colonel’s forehead and he finally stops.
“Would you like a little drink?”
“I don’t think so.”
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