My farewell to Conan (a la 1948 stage drama):
[Curtain opens. Squeaky, front door of ranch house opens]
Me [in kitchen, preparing sophisticated drinks]:
Conan? Is that you? Conan? Come on in, old pal! I've been waitin' for ya'! I made us pork chop and beans, ya' son of a gun. Come here.
[quiet *thump* sound on the ground near the front door]
Annie's been waitin' 17 years for you to come into our home, and here you are! Put down your coat n' hat, ya' hootin' tomcat; kick off your shoes and settle in. Annie got the guest room ready; you can stay there as long as you need to get on your feet. Boy oh boy, it's good to finally see you as a man.
Conan, come in here already.! Conan, geez, don't be a stranger. Conan?
[I walk to the foyer and stop.]
Conan?! Why do you have a knife in your back!! Why is there blood all over the floor!! Why are you lying there, face down!!
[I rush to Conan, turn him over and rest his head in my right hand and smack his face back and forth with the left.]