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The Champion

August 2009 , Page 18 

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Treads for the Dying Declaration Under Kumho Tire

By Justo Arenas and Carol Romey

Lente, lente, currite noctis equi
(slowly, slowly, run ye horses of the night).
Christopher Marlowe, Doctor Faustus, sc. 13, l. 70.

How fate loves a jest. Behold me ambushed,
taken in the rear. My battlefield a gutter;
my noble foe a lackey with a log of wood. …
I have missed everything. Even my death.
Edmond Rostand, Cyrano de Bergerac, Act V.


The scene: Mid-autumn in a fast-food parking lot at 2:00 a.m., poorly lit, cool, drizzling.
The players: Yammo (the loan shark); Lenny (the liar); Huxley (the butler); and Jones (the state trooper).
Yammo — (kneeling on asphalt, Lenny’s head on his lap) — Lenny, who did this to you, buddy?
Trooper Jones — (notepad in hand) — Speak loud, Lenny!
Lenny — (bleeding from temporomandibular bullet wound) — Huxley, my butler, did it.
Yammo — (friendly, nonconfrontational) — Lenny, you don’t have a butler.
Lenny — (expiring) — … so … what … (expires).
Trooper Jones — (writing slowly and repeating) — Huxley ... my ... butler ... did ... it.

The sacrosan

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