Super Sunday

Today was George's birthday and he was in a cranky mood. Most of the guys had forgotten to acknowledge the anniversary of his nativity because they were gabbing about the big game. I could see that he would start to sulk if something wasn't done, so I clinked on my coffee cup with a spoon to get their attention.
"Guys. Attention." I yelled, standing up with my cup raised. "I would like to propose a toast."
Bill farted loudly. Rajeed, who still thinks farts are funny, giggled. Lonny put down his paper.
"To George. Happy Birthday. Many Happy returns." Everyone raised their beverage container in salute. This seemed to please him. He was rising, about to speak when Lardass barrelled in form the freezing outdoors with a cake someone had left at the bakery recycle area. The inscription said, "Get Well Soon, Buzzy"
Lardass was proud of his find. "Hey guys, look at this." He brought the cake over to George. "Come on Birthday Boy, cut the cake!"
"But don't cut the cheese," giggle Rajeed. We all stared at him sharply and he shut-up.
"You guys shouldn't have gone to all this trouble," George said with a twinkle. "But, thank you, anyway."
I got out the paper plates and some plastic forks. George took out his Bowie and wiped the blade on the knee of his jeans as he prepared to cut the cake. Bill was humming "Someone left the cake out in the rain...and I'll never be the same... " McArther's Park. Lardass chided him, "Hey quit that fagola singing, willya?"

As George sliced the cake, I thought I detected a tear in the corner of his wizened eye. Maybe it was for Buzzy, the sick guy who never lived to eat his cake, or for the years that we all had wasted at the dump. Or maybe it was just a mote of dust.