For the last couple of days, my voice has descended into a depressing Corleonean rasp. On the one hand, it's the only good thing to come from this never-ending cold, on the other, I'm afraid that it might be here to stay. I love Godfather, and G-II, so much that I find myself inserting lines of dialogue from them into my real life. Yesterday at work, I asked a man to sign his receipt, but he refused, saying that he didn't have to sign when his card was used as a debit, rather than credit. Perhaps I went a little too heavy when I told him, "Either your brains or your signature are going to be on that paper before you leave here." His teenage son thought it was cool, but only because he temporarily hates his dad. When the father, with shaking hand, did as I had asked, I told him, "It's not personal, you understand, only business." Then he kissed my ring, and asked, "Will you be my friend, Godfather?" Actually, I could get used to that.
Thanks for humoring me.
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