…and I’m terminal, she said. I nodded. I really am she chuckled. I sighed, we’re all terminal. Her son laughed, yeah we’re all dying.
The old woman handed me a card, it said, You were caught being kind”. You can keep it or pass it on. Okay.
D and I had come to Broad Ripple Brew Pub again. It’s my place but she’s good with it. The old woman’s admission, she was terminal, came after she said she was going to haunt the orange dumpster fire. It came at the end of an unabashed trashing of our corpulent would be dictator and the debased electorate who empowered him. I could have listened to her for hours.
I’ve met hundreds of people at a bar. For me, these encounters are enrichment, the value which, I can’t quantify. I used to say my only concept of heaven was an English pub. Yeah no. An eternity of anything seems the very definition of hell.