The "Pardon"

              

                                                                ~ yesterday ~
    
That Damn Stan let out an Indian war whoop.  "Dree," he was practically screaming at him, "You're free!  You're free!"  Dree got up from his desk and ventured out into the hallway.  That Damn Stan kissed him and pulled on his shirt.  "Dude, you're all over the news."  Dree followed him into the living room where That Damn Stan was busy hunting down the local news.

Dree stared at the teevee.  "Wow," he said.  he slumped into the recliner and closed his eyes.  "That's it?" That Damn Stan demanded, "Just 'Wow?'"  Dree groaned.  "What are you going to do now?" That Damn Stan inquired.  Dree shrugged.  "Testify in front of those idiots in Congress, maybe spend the summer in Newark."  That Damn Stan raised his eyebrows.  "See if Honey
will marry me.  Then go live in Germany or somewhere for awhile." 

A picture of Dree Raincave flashed on the screen.  "You're going back to Newark?  I thought you hated it there," That Damn Stan mused.  "Yeah, in the slum and without Honey.  I'd like to give Newark a second chance.  Maybe spend a few weeks helping to clean up after Sandy.  That hurricane was a bitch," Dree RainCave said.  "Can I use the phone?  I'd like to call Honey."  That Damn Stan nodded.  "Help yourself, Dree.  You've earned it."

                      ~ to be continued ~