Roman holiday

by lgoodfriend

I’d rather go to FRance.

He looked at the floor, uncomfortable.  “I had an x-ray in November, Juliet.  It didn’t look good.”  Her eyes filled with tears.  “Was it… was it the whiskey?”
“It was the whiskey.”
“God damn it all,” she sobbed.
“Well,” he sighed, smiling sadly. “We’ll always have the foxtrot.”

The clang of jostled highball glasses rang through the room as she pounded her desk.  “Where the hell is everyone?”
“Uh, Charlie and Victor are in Quebec until November, and…”
“What the hell are they doing there?”
“They’re tasting whiskey and organizing an exhibit of Zulu uniforms from the…”
She rolled her eyes.  “Send them a postcard with my regards saying they’re both fired.”

“Charlie?”
“Yes, Juliet?”
“Where’s the whiskey?”
“I dunno, papa hid it.”
“I wish we had a portable x-ray machine so I could find it.”
“Maybe you should drink less, sis.”

An old man in dirty overalls emerged, hands raised, from behind a dilapidated shed.  “Bravo, you stinking coward yankee.  You finally found me.”
“Thanks for the compliment, Charlie, but I’m Canadian.  Why did you decide to hide in Quebec?”
The old man shrugged.  “The European feel.”

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