The Old Man Across The Street

From a distance he looks like a stick standing upright. A stick that time has bent, crooked and twisted. He lives alone in the house on the corner across the street. Well, not really alone. His two small dogs have kept him company for as long as we’ve lived here. They follow him wherever he goes and yap at anyone who happens to walk by. And he would yell at them in a scratchy old voice. “Tina…Eddy…get the hell back here”. When he would get into his banged up old car and drive away to wherever little old men go in their banged up old cars, the little white dog would just bark until he would return. Well, the banged up old car isn’t in the driveway anymore. I guess he won’t be going to where little old men in their banged up old cars go anymore. And yesterday I noticed as he stood crooked and bent out in his front yard…there was only one little dog. As I turned to go back inside though I heard that scratchy old voice holler one more time. “Tina…get the hell back here”. Rest in peace Eddy. Rest in peace.