He Just Says Shit

Like People Do

Okay I'm walking along this morning, muttering to myself: Fed up, I am, not only with Joe Biden but with all old men, even though (all the more so because) I am one. Is my mouth hanging open? Do I have a blank look on my face? If asked what street I am walking down would I be able to come up it? Did I remember to take my blood-thinner? Am I probably going to trip on something and fall flat on my old crumpled face any minute now and bleed out because, yes, I did take my blood-thinner but I didn't remember it so I took another one?

            I am actually, believe it or not, nearly a year or so older than Biden.

            The horror!

            I know. I know. I would have debated Trump better than Biden did. I used to go on TV. I felt pretty good there — it was easier than writing, God knows. I can see myself looking at Trump askance and saying, "The last time we debated I said, 'Shut up, man.' You still haven't taken my point."

            No, something a trickier: "You know, you don't even lie like an honest man -- "

            When who should I see walking toward me but -- let's call him Eddy. Of all times to run into this old boy I went to grade school with, so he's as old as I am. Maybe he's even a few months older, because I could have waited till the following year to start first grade but my mother saw that I was restless, intellectually, and got me into school before I was six. So I always felt younger than the others, not in a good way. By God I compensated!

            Eddy is probably the person who has known me longer than anybody else, living.

            And he's whistling.

            Who whistles anymore, walking along? And especially what old man whistles, walking along, this morning — after the old-man leader of the Free World (duffer, geezer, codger, coot) last night stood up for democracy so badly, against a slightly younger man who doesn't even believe in the Free World. Stood up badly against a childish liar.

            Eddy and I recognized each other right off. Which is to say, we could each see the extent to which we had both gone downhill.

            "Hey Eddy," I said. "Good to see you. [A social lie.] "What in the hell have you got to whistle about?"

            Eddy said: “My man did good last night.”

            "Your . . . man. Oh, God, Eddy,” I exclaimed. “You're a Trumper?"

            "You bet. And the world -- God and everybody -- is skewing MAGA. You didn't like it last night? What are you, a libtard? Aw, no, you always had good grades, why would you be so dumb --"

            "Eddy, the question is, how can you like Trump?'"

            "Because he's popular?"

            "Popular? His wife doesn't even like him."