Vonnegut remembrance

This is also a charming tale by Glynnis Eldridge carried on a blog published by Ethan Bodner.

Excerpt: When her feet’s sleeping sensation struck her, Glynnis winced and bit down on a piece of a crushed ice cube. She crinkled her nose and squeezed her eyes closed, and then the man with the gray curly hair looked over in her direction and smiled. He excused himself from the conversation he had been having with the other famous people in the room, and smiled down in the direction of the black Mary Janes dangling off of the end of the armchair.

“Are they sleeping?” the curly haired man asked in between glances at the shiny shoes, and sips of some beverage that Glynnis assumed was ginger ale. Glynnis didn’t say anything, but instead gave him an exaggerated nod of the head. Yes. Her feet were very much asleep. She picked up her glass of ginger ale.

“My feet fall asleep sometimes too,” he continued, “not long ago I ran into a little boy about your age who also liked ginger ale. Do you know what he said?”
Glynnis grinned and shook her head, “No”.

“Well, he told me that his feet feel like ginger ale when they fall asleep,” he gulped down the last of the liquid in his glass, “How about that?”