At the little bistro, on the corner, in town, Ward and June, were still getting reacquainted. Okay, so that dad-n-son gig had only been four days,

oh, just chalk it down...marrieds being marrieds... still a few of 'em around.  Thank. You.  LORD! Anyway, the couple's conversation meandered it's way here and there.  The Labor Day festivities were to kick off the following morning.  First, the vintage car parade - that would be around 11; last year's homecoming king and queen would be riding in the back of Roy's 1967 Pontiac Lemans.  Some twittering activity, was going on about that.  The king, a good looking young man, had either played quarter or running back for the school's team.  Ward didn't let on to the fact, that he didn't really know - much less had played - football, or basketball.  

Ward's sport had been - throughout his adult years - hitting the gym...well, atleast when the books, ever beckoning, would leave him alone for an hour or so, here and there, allowing him to atleast try to work out atleast some of the nerdiness.  Never really happened.  But just as well.  June liked him - alot, evidently.  He liked June.  After all these years...still, very much.

Anyway, the school's homecoming queen was... You guessed it, one of the cheerleaders.  A pretty girl, with long jet black hair.  The girl's mom owned the tax-account/notary place; her father wasn't around and hadn't been, for about the past four or five years.  Had to have been tough going for the kid, and probably still was.  Her daddy's remains lay in a big box, in the veterans' grave yard.  Story was, he had been one among many, who had not been killed by ammo.  The man had, instead, frozen to death, upon distant stepps.  

All in all, last year's choice yet remained a sore spot among a few of the town's more prominent citizens.  One topic leading to another, June leaned forward across the table to share a townie-tidbit - nothing serious, the woman wasn't a gossip.   Had her husband needed to repeat any of the two or three sentences, he wouldn't have had a clue.  His attention was focused ... well, elsewhere.

Wherever their attentions were, the couple's eyes - as well as the that of the waitress, and the two or three other customers - became fixated upon the flatscreen.  The Russian Premier didn't appear at all happy.  And neither did President Donalds - yikes, the pres looked ... concerned.  Concerned, that he'd be seeing an oral surgeon - in about three minutes.  In perfect english, the red-faced premier, within the 18" inches, bellowed,"WHAT THE *CK IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE?"  

But what could our president say?  Sorry??  Problem was, even the most sincerest apology could not bring back the two russian kids - one aged nine, and the other around five or six - who had been adopted by a couple, who had lived ... well, actually, not too far from the bistro.   Abuse.  Not a smack on the bottom for getting caught sneaking cookies before dinnertime.  There were no cookies, nor was there dinner either.  Bad, really bad.