Elvis a Friend

Elvis, a friend. Into my café, a young man who combed his hair Elvis Priestly style and naturally got the nickname, Elvis He didn’t mind; the name gave him a purpose in life. The young man, let’s call him Pedro, developed an air Of fame, when he entered my café, he sought the table In the middle of the room and greeted everyone. Even his mother addressed him as Elvis. In a flash, thirty years had gone time has no mercy Elvis wore a shop-bought toupee and had gone fat Fond, as he was of Napoleon cakes. Elvis died, as Priestly did, in the bathroom; his mother Agreed, to write on his stone, Elvis, “Pedro” RIP.