There he is, the poor bastard. Taking his troubles out by fishing at the canal and drinking that Bud beer he likes. But it’s my job as site manager of Moe’s to clean him up and get him ready for marriage. I don’t know why but it was in the job description: get Toothpick ready to marry his sister on Wednesday’s Thursday Friday’s Saturday Tuesday. Munday, in other words, the 6th and final day of the week. Marrying day. At St. Mary’s. Should have been the Temple (of TILE) but it is what it is. Carrcassonnee wasn’t ready; the boss couldn’t get Carr started, har. And so we are only left with 6 instead of 7, but still a Happy Day indeed, or it is suppose to be. By eliminating the 7th, we make sure the brother-sister thing is okay with the higher authorities, meaning God and his choirs of angels and demons alike.
“Where’s Mr. Z?” he asked later at Moe’s where I helped him put on his suspenders one strap at a time.
“Traveling,” I answered. “Out on the continents gathering more masks.”
“Oh. Then I guess maw won’t be showing up either.”
“No. I’m your best man now.” 2nd strap done. Now to commence with the snaggly tooth combing and Neptune demo hair brushing.
“I expect a post card will do from them.”
“On with the show,” I say as I lead him to the sink behind the bar counter. “You still have your sister and that’s the important thing.”
“Really?” he declared. “After the wedding — will I really have a twin sister left either?”
I couldn’t answer that. It was up to the love birds and the alchemical gods to decide that. The marriage is what it is. He removes his toothpick and applies comb to teeth as I brush his hair with paste.