Billy Joel has been creeping into my Pandora cycle more and more frequently. Never a bad thing, really.
That said, I woke up at 5 the other morning and resigned myself to remaining conscious, I popped on my Sonos and there he was. My groggy brain had some input as the song played out.
Myrt was stretched out, purring between my crossed legs, so I just started blabbing to her. Color commentating on the song as it went along.
Now, Bill is a real estate novelist
What the hell is that?
Does real estate need to be novelized? You might be able to stretch a novella out of it, but I’m pretty sure the main real estate collateral consists of fliers and pamphlets.
Who never had time for a wife.
And he’s talking to Davey
Who’s still in the Navy
And probably will be for life.
Myrtle, Bill and Davey are gay.
Myrtle gives me a look that suggests I need better hobbies. Or at least hobbies that are less disturbing.
That Billy Joel, man. What a storyteller, eh, Myrt.