Lu Kella

“ But having nothing to lose, Frankie takes a squint.
And just like that, he's on top a mountain with some old guy who's got long white hair and whiskers and twinkly blue eyes. The guy's got an old chair with a cushion tied to the seat and back of it and just sits rocking away, comfortable as you please.
"Well, hey," Frankie says. "From the earth the moon always looks like a big fat cheese. But now that I'm up here on the thing, it really is all deserts and steep mountains of almost every color under the sun. Maybe there ain't no air. Maybe the sunlight's hot enough to fry a horse. ”

“ I dreamed you fell asleep in your car out here and went to see an old man on the moon and the old man showed you Vera Verina and a French Mimi and a South American Chi-Chi and even a Nita on Mars and you went to see them and got kissed and fed up and couldn't stand any of them near as much as me and so you began crying all over the moon and you'd never try to be anything without me and that's when I jumped out of bed and took my sister Cissie's car and ran out here and dragged you in out of the rain and have you got my coat on yet? ”

“ Frankie opens his eyes. Yeah, he's back on the moon, no fancy dress suit, just old slacks and jacket again.
Frankie considers the old man's question. "Oh, I guess Vera's okay—for some guys."
"She's supposed to represent every American girl, Frankie."
"American dames." Frankie thinks of a certain one employed by him. "Huh."
"Hmmmm." The old man rocks a bit and squints over the earth. Part of Europe's coming around now. The old man nods in the direction of the Mediterranean. ”

“ Bathed in moonlight pouring between scudding black clouds is a toasty brown bun that is only twenty-five feet, six inches long, eight feet, three inches high and ten feet, four inches thick. Stretched invitingly in the bun is the pièce of resistance—the dog—and not the tasteless mongrel type, but the juicy Great Dane breed. ”