The Sweat of the Brow (57)

I’m speechless and he’s drinking. Which is usually how he likes it.

He raised a good point. Whether he meant to or not. What do I say that I’m doing with myself? In case somebody asks.

Nobody’s going to ask.

That doesn’t mean I don’t need an answer.

No, but: what lie do I need? I’m a retired man of some small means, a widower, a man with a ticking clock. I’m meeting people. I’m seeing the sights. I’m watching the sunset. I’m making the most of life.

It’s perfectly reasonable. Which is why it’s what most people do. It’s what I’d be doing. If I hadn’t decided to be unreasonable.

I sit at the table and look out at the sand and the sea and the sky. I sip my drink. I feel the warm sea breeze roll over me.

And I wait.

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~ by davekov on 19 October 2012.

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