Brooklyn goes to Flushing

An early Sunday morning, Louie and Knuckles were taking the subway to work.

“People get Sunday off mostly,” Louie said.

“How’s come we don’t never get Sundays off?”

“Knuckles, we don’t get days off. Don’t be stupid.”

“Dat ain’t fair. Maybe we outta talk to Big Jimmie bout it.”

“You know what Big Jimmie will give ya, if’n ya ask him?”

“Dunno, maybe Sundays off den?”

“Yeah, dats exactly what you’d get. Every Sunday off from now till forever. Knuckles if it weren’t for me, you’d be cat food.”

“Hey, don’t talk like dat. Just cause I ain’t smart, no right to go bringing up cat food.” Knuckle’s crumpled left whisker twitched like always when his feelings got hurt.

The two rats sat under their seats in silence.

“Knuckles ain’t you’re fault you got part of yer brain chewed off by that cat when you was a little pinky. I shouldn’ta been such a creep and made fun of ya. Sorry”

“It’s okay, Louie you ain’t a dirty rat. What’s our job today, anyhow?”

“It’s our usual Sunday gig. Today we’re extorting mice in the church by the Murray Hill stop.”

“You’re real smart, Louie. Nobody ever thought of running a protection racket on church mice since they got that whole, ‘Nobodies Poor as Us’ thing going for em.

“Hey you think dis time we gonna get some proper food, dose wafers taste real stale?”

“You kidding, dis week? They got giant chocolate rabbit eggs!”