Easter Sunday afternoon Monty was lying on the couch in front of the TV. He was sleeping in front of one of those Jesus movies with a thousand different actors in it that he always sleeps through on a Sunday afternoon. First, he eats his weight at dinner, which isn’t all that much, then he sacks out for a couple of hours. I sat next to him, by his feet, since he didn’t take up more than half the length of the sofa, and Ma was in the kitchen doing the dishes. I got up to put my suit coat on.
“Where do you go, George?” Monty surprised me, opening his eyes a crack.