The leathery, old Indian stared at me for the longest time before simply replying, “Eggs”.
By this time my father was calling me back to the car and I left the old Indian chief somewhat skeptical about his self-acclaimed, “World’s Best Memory”.
Thirty years later, I was re-creating my family’s trip out west with my own wife and children. As luck would have it, we stopped at the very same gas station and the old Indian Chief with the same old sign was still sitting out front in his chair. Excited, I told my children that I had seen this very same Indian years ago when I was just a kid.
So I walked up to the old Indian Chief with kids in tow, raised my hand and said, in my best Indian voice, “How”.
This entry was posted in Humorous, Narrative and tagged Joe Flach, Narrative, Poems, Poetry by jflach2014. Bookmark the permalink.
This is not an original story. This is the re-telling of a joke I heard years and years ago from my father.