Jean and Bud sat together on a bench outside of their apartment building like a pair of lovebirds.
Gina smiled as she walked by, thinking her attractive friend had finally found a man who respected her.
"Come here, Gina,” Jean said, in her raspy voice from decades of smoking. "I can't get Bud to take his hand off my leg." Tears filled her eyes behind her glasses.
"Tell him again,” Gina yelled.
"Move your hand,” Jean repeated."
“Don't you like it,” Bud asked?
“No,” she said.
He moved his gnarled hand to his lap.
Jean is 82. Bud is 94.
Gina smiled as she walked by, thinking her attractive friend had finally found a man who respected her.
"Come here, Gina,” Jean said, in her raspy voice from decades of smoking. "I can't get Bud to take his hand off my leg." Tears filled her eyes behind her glasses.
"Tell him again,” Gina yelled.
"Move your hand,” Jean repeated."
“Don't you like it,” Bud asked?
“No,” she said.
He moved his gnarled hand to his lap.
Jean is 82. Bud is 94.
