A Country For Old Men

A Country for old Men I have been into town bought a paper and drank a beer, in the café where the old men sit in the afternoon shade. I feel more at ease here amongst other wrinklies. On the other side of the road, near the pharmacy, the big clock on the wall tells us it’s five and the temp is 41 Celsius, but in the shade and with a breeze blowing it feels fine. In a few years the big clock will tell us that time is up, but others will come and take our place. There is a vast pool of us in deaths ante room; we are but tiny ants on a window pane so easily squashed by a child’s thumb. I sit in the shed, see how cigarette smoke spirals up and out before dissipating in still hot air, and thought of the silent sighs I heard when a beautiful girl walked past our café. We shall never possess anything as lovely again.