Will had come over to bury the hatchet, or mend the fences, or whatever you want to call it. But I think he was just lonely since the pack had gotten called back to Montana for an emergency and he was left here without his boyfriends. I know, I know. I’m being snippy. But the mutt was working my last nerve. “I’m bored.” JR said, voicing what most of us were thinking as we stared at whatever mindless entertainment was being offered on the boob tube. Yes, I did call it that, even though there aren’t as many boobs on American television as there are in other countries, and there actually are no more tubes in televisions, I think. Or maybe the boobs were the ones watching. Will turned to me and said, “Let’s go cruising.” Before I had a chance to say anything in response, JR crowed, “Yeah! Woohoo! We’re going cruising! American Graffiti style!” and went to put on his shoes. He’d been raised on that movie, as – did I tell you this before? – George Lucas had filmed it in nearby Modesto, and its success had given him enough juice to have Star Wars made, another of JR’s favorites, of course.
