Time ran swiftly through his fingers. The old man sat with his whiskey and pondered. Outside, kids dressed in costumes knocked on doors and yelled, trick or treat. He left the porchlight off. Spent time reflecting.

Some are too busy to think of the past. Their lives are constantly on go. Jobs, careers, social engagements, always looking for the next adventure. That was never the case with the old man. He spent a lifetime looking backward in the rear view mirror of an old Ford truck. The bed rusted out. Headlights on dim.

The ice in his glass melted. Kids had gone home to divy up their treasures of the night while the old man sat in darkness, waiting for memories to stop. Women who had come in and out of his life, being raised by mom while dad worked in the factory, taking trains across country, never settling down. Always a step behind normal. Seems to be the question in America: What is normal? He asked himself this and smiled.

Maybe in the next life, he whispered. Maybe in the next life. He walked down the hall of his trailer and crawled into bed. Dreamed of a night in Dallas, watching women dance and climb on poles. Glitter in the air. Neon lights blinking. A redhead whispering in his ear, it’ll be alright. It’ll be alright.

Her voice soothed him in his sleep. Time ran swiftly through his fingers. Morning was always around the corner. And that’s what he was scared of.