There’s very little time.

Maybe, not enough time.

Where did time go?

The wind is cold on this October morn. Feels like December. I sit on the front porch watching black squirrels run in front of cars; playing Russian roulette. They’re not concerned with time. The time for them is now. Living in the moment. Quick actions. You find a nut, you store it. Putting it away for some other time. Or, at that time.

I talk with old friends about old times. Drunken afternoons, St. Patrick’s Day parades, Christmas of the past, a wedding day celebration. That’s when I thought I had all the time in the world. Careless we are in our youth.

An old grandfather clock stands in the living room. Telling time with brass hands and chimes. One day the clock will stop. And then a decision must be made; fix it,or,let it be. Just an old show piece it will become. Just like me.

There’s very little time.

Maybe, not enough time.

Where did time go?

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The writing is based on my surroundings and what I've been surrounded by. This language is coarse and politically incorrect; which I make no apologies for. These characters are not nice and to use any other dialogue would be disingenuine. That being said, I choose to roll the dice. dm seay

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