Time

The door to the saloon creaked in the wind. Thought it might be someone coming in. Yeah, right. Just the wind. I should say always the wind. The paint had been stripped off the west side of the building, sandblasted as it was, always was. The Stones were playing on the jukebox. Time is on my side.

“My ass it is on my side.”

“You talking to the music again, Charlie?” That’s just Don, the owner of this here flea-bitten, sandblasted establishment.
“Always windy around here because you a wind bag, Don. Just an old wind bag ‘round here, yes it is.” Been sittin’ on this here stool since I don’t know when. Don’t really care to know. The sun comin’ through the front window glares, smudges out all the front out there. “Hehe, yheh, you’s just a old windbag, Don.”

“Charlie, I’m a year younger than you, ya dumbshit. Graduated a year after you, went into the service after you, got back after you. Hell, I even dated yer sister after you.” With that he slapped his towel across his thigh. Thought that was such a good dig. Always thinks that’s a real good dig. “Anyway, Hoss, what are you doin’ here today, anyway? Isn’t this yer day in the sun?”

“Don, I’m gonna tell you somethin’, and I want you to listen up, for once in yer life. Stay outta my business. I know what I’m doin’. Sittin’ here just a little longer won’t change nothin’. She’s been dead a long time. I’ll be over to the ‘site in my own time.” On my side, my ass. Yes it is.