Let’s pretend we are twelve.
Okay, bottom of the ninth in this 1957 Series bases are loaded.
The Hammer slowly walks to the plate.
He don’s his batting helmet.
Swings twice. The pitch floats to the plate.
There’s a drive to left, it could be it might be, it’s outta here.
The Braves win the series.
I just hit a walk off grand slam. The crowd is awed.
Let’s pretend I’m twenty-two. Ok, cool.
Pass that my way please. Want a lude?
Are you sure you’re good to drive.
Absorutely. Hold his bottle of Beam please.
Let’s pretend we’re thirty-two. No, your age not marriages.
It must be love. It was true love.
Did you notice the past tense in above sen tance.
I didn’t think so.
Let’s pretend we’re forty-two.
Rehab is for quitters.
I don’t like you very much.
Let’s pretend we’re fifty-two.
Let’s pretend we’re sixty-two.
Do over. Mulligan.
Not. No can do.
Hide and watch bitchy.