Dreaming Of Thanksgiving

Rocco rolled over and opened his eyes and smiled at the ceiling. “Hey Frankie, guess what?”

Frankie rolled his eyes and put his nose deeper into his magazine.

“You’re not gonna believe the dream I just had.”

“I don’t want to hear it Rocco.”

“This was a wonderful dream Frankie. It was about Thanksgiving.”

“I don’t want to hear it Rocco.”

“You and me, we had an amazing Thanksgiving dinner. You know what we had?”

This was going to be torture. “Turkey?”

“Yeah, turkey. But not just turkey, Frankie, no, we had the works!”

“For god’s sake, Rocco, you’re inhuman.”

“I tell ya, my mouth is watering. It was all on the table in front of us. Mashed potatoes, Rocco. Smoother than a newborn baby’s bottom. And candied yams, Rocco. You know the ones, with the mini marshmallows and butter all melted on top. Oh god, they tasted so good.”

Frankie threw his magazine on the floor. “That’s enough Rocco. For the love of god, that’s enough.”

“You know what else Rocco? Home made bread rolls. You know those Virginia Light rolls? The ones made with lots of butter and sour cream? They just melted in our mouths.”

“Rocco, I’m gonna put my fist down your throat, I swear to god I will.”

“The ambrosia, Frankie. The ambrosia was to die for.”

“You’re gonna die, Rocco. Fuck the ambrosia.”

“But the best part, oh my god, the best part was the pies. Pumpkin pie with fresh whipped cream – “

Frankie was on his feet like greased lightening, his hands around Rocco’s throat. The guards came running and had the cell door open in no time, pulling them apart.

“Knock it off you two. It’s chow time.”

“What’s for dinner?”

“Sloppy Joes and cauliflower.”

“Remind me to kill you later Rocco.”

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