Good or bad, a strong man is trouble. – Denis Johnson, Tree Of Smoke
To be honest, I am not a fan of men. The older, the whiter, the fatter, the worse. Now don’t get me wrong, some old fat white men might be completely okay. I have friends who are old and white and male.
None of them are fat, it turns out. But that’s just us. We couldn’t do anything about our color nor our age, but we could control what we ate. And how we moved. We moved a lot. Stayed active. Constantly.
Remember one medical-type trying to figure me out. “So, what I’m hearing, basically you treated your body like an amusement park and now you are paying the price.” Not taking risks is a risk too often taken. Chancy.
To be honest, forgot what I was writing about. Problem is, I opened with a non sequitur and the ironic title confuses.
An old man sans a car is like a cowboy without a horse. Puppy got me up at four. Early.
The last cowboy. How I feel. Think I have more dead friends than live ones. And my big dog was so damn old, he up and died. Slowly.
The last cowboy. How I feel.