“Buddy-boy, what’s the matter?”Mister Ed queried his owner as Wilbur Post entered their shared space of stable and office.Ed had heard the siren... and seen the ambulance arrive, then watched yet another extra long vehicle depart hours later in total silence. Something or other “Mortuary” printed on the side.Wilbur had been crying.“Addison, he is dead.”Ed knew death only in the abstract of production parameters and entertainment value. This, this was not that.“I’m sorry, Wilbur. What. Here at “Le Bistro” the pay was good, so if that meant I had to use a fake (and really bad) accent, so be it. And it wasn’t like there was that much work for a drop out, out of work actor ex-model 29 year old who had come home to take care of his sister. And perks like tonight were sweet.My current table were a party of two. A young couple, he freshly 21 from his ID, and she the older woman by 6 months. She was a sexy thing in this tiny little light dress. And fuck I could see her panties when. More

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