Old Times

“Don’t you remember old man Johnson? He had the store at the end of the road.”
    “Oh yeah,” Said Michael, “now that you mention him I do remember him. Ole tightwad.”
Adam laughed. “Yeah. I mainly remember his daughter, Rose. Boy she was a beauty.”
    “Hey,” Michael said, “is he still living?”
    “I don’t care about Johnson but Rose is still at the old homestead.”
    Michael took another swig from the quart jar and said, “Let’s go see her. See if she still looks
as good as she ever did.”
    ”Let’s do it,” Adam said.
    The boys tore into Rose Johnson’s driveway and got out of the old Chevy yelling, “Hey Rose ole
gal. Get that beautiful rear end of yours outside, now.”
    Rose Johnson came out on the front porch of the old storefront, looking as radiant as ever the
boys remembered. She looked at the boys in a strange way but they didn’t pay any attention to
her stare, they were too busy staring at her.
    “C’mon babe, remember the old times?”
    “I remember,” said old man Johnson as he pulled his double barrel shotgun around and drew a bead on the
boys and loaded them with buckshot.