Drove Aunty Marie to the hospital today. She's in for a few tests. It took us an hour and a half to get to Dublin. I talked the whole way. The aunt listened with mild amusement. She mustn't be too sick if she can take eighty minutes of my monologue.
We strolled into the hospital a little after two o'clock in the afternoon. Standing in the foyer, my spider senses tingled. Turning I spied a restaurant. Yes a restaurant. Just off the foyer. Serving patients and staff. And, er, me.
"Do you mind aunt?" sez I, steering us foodwards.
She had a cup of coffee. I had a roast beef dinner.
Presently someone came looking for the aunt. A certain medical expert on floor seven could not survive a minute longer without a look at her.
We bid our au revoirs.
The aunt pressed a fifty spot into my hand.
My hand closed on the fifty spot.
Alone in the restaurant I mused on the vicissitudes of existence.
You know I'm really making a killing on the aunts.
Maybe it's time to give up journalism.