The Old Man and his Faithfulness
An old man in his pajamas is eating cashews in his living room. The radio is lackluster, and his wife has conveniently lost all his good albums. With only his thoughts and the darkness to occupy him, inevitably his thoughts darken. It hits him. He’s been faithful far too long—at least fifty years. Normally he’d be too lazy to do anything about this, but he must have taken the wrong combination of pills this morning. His wife is out shopping. The old man stands resolutely. He eats one more cashew and decides to go to the bar! It’s early, but he figures it will be a bit later by the time he walks there, and then he’ll have plenty of time to prepare his wit for when the girls arrive. Fourteen minutes later he arrives at the nearest corner bar. He opens the seedy red door and enters the smoky den. His eyes adjust, and he realizes there’s only old men in pajamas in the bar. But at least he won’t have much competition, he decides. Yep, his faithful days are as good as over. Then he looks down and realizes that he too has forgotten to take his pajamas off. He sighs and sits at the bar. The bartender, a reedy, bored fellow, slides over and calls him “old timer.” The old man in his pajamas orders a beer and a whiskey. He can’t remember why the two words popped so instinctively out of his mouth. He hopes there’s money somewhere in his pajamas.
- D. Richard Scannell
