The Charm of the Farm

Bart had walked ahead of me, a normal walk, to get to Wayne's house, 2 doors down from where Bart lives. Wayne was on his front porch chatting with another neighbor. I wanted to thank Wayne for carrying me up & down the steps a couple of times when I was first injured from my ladder fall accident.

Bart was cheering me on at the huddle, "come on my little Turtle" as I slowly caned my way to Wayne's house.

I told Wayne how much I appreciated his kindness. He said it was nothing; he knew how I felt. He broke his leg before and didn't go to the hospital until 20 hours later. Then the next year, he broke the same leg around the same place.
"Dis time I droves my self to da hospital with my duce and a quata." Wayne described.
In confusion, Bart and I replied, "What?" at the same time.
Wayne explained further, "My duce and a quarta. My bruir."
I was still confused, but Bart understood. "You know deb, a tall boy, a beer."
"Oh, yea" I understood. He drove himself to the hospital with a tall boy.
"Not my brueer, my bruirc." Wayne corrected us.
"What?"
"Brewk."
I shrugged my shoulders, "I don't understand?" Bart and I said in question.
The other neighbor replied, "You know, bru-ok."
We were both still clueless.
"You knows, a big choar" Wayne chimed-in again.
"Ooooh, a Buick." Bart and I finally got it.
"I use to have a 1979 Oldsmobile Delta 88 back in the day." I related to his story.
"Den you knows what I'm talkin' bout."
"Yea you right." I finally agreed. High 5...anyone?

I forgot that Bart had told me that the neighbors called him Burt.