Sardines are an old man’s breakfast
and a young man’s lunch - if he eats them at all, with lettuce and chips and a glass of beer between meetings, on the run to teleconferencing without brushing his teeth or poring over spreadsheets in green-shaded light. Old men savor the bone-picking with tongue-clicking approval and sop the oil with pinches of bread, lingering over the morning paper droplet on ink of editorial ads, and taste a bit of scotch - single-malt to start a day of walking in the park of memories and the next project within the house of years and soul. Old women feed sardines to cats and those on the bench mumble to the birds.
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October 2016
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