Jan 4, 2007
2:27 AM
He was into movies. They were at the center of his metropolitan lifestyle. He had a wife. She liked the movies too, but not like Stan did.
Together they saw all of the movies that had to be seen. A couple of times a week they would incorporate dinner and a show. Sheilagh sometimes liked the dinner better than the show. She always liked the dinner, and the show, better than Stan's recap, and critique, of the movie. However, there was one good thing about the recap and critique, Sheilagh didn't have to endure Stan's tick.
Stan's tick happened when he was watching anything. He would cross his legs with the calf of one leg over the knee of the other. When he did this he would wag the foot that was hanging in the air. He did it very rapidly. He would pause when he was rapt, but he was only rapt for a moment. After the gunshot, or the punchline, his foot would resume wagging.
As the years wore on, Sheilagh prayed for her husband to lose the use of his legs. Finally, after seeing the last Coen brother's movie, Sheilagh walked out of the theatre, across the sidewalk, stepped off of the curb, and into the traffic.
She died a grueling, painful, slow death. And while she was struggling to expire, Stan sat on a chair in the waiting room with his legs crossed, and his foot wagging.
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