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"Feels like I've been sitting here on this bench waiting for something to happen my whole life," this used-up old man said to no one in particular. His arms rested on his knees, hands clasped as if in prayer. He stared at a wad of gum that had been ground into the sidewalk and turned black by countless shoes.
After a few moments he continued, "You should have seen me when I was in my prime. All the pretty little hep-kittens loved me. They hung on my every word. Now what am I? Old and pathetic; I have to take half a Viagra just so I can pee straight."
The old man sat in silence for a few more seconds, his feeble body trying to soak up the timid warmth of the early Spring sunshine as it filtered through the range of skyscrapers -- man's interpretation of Mother Nature's beauty. Then he continued, "I used to know what love is. Not that anyone cares now.
"Most people can tell you what love <i>isn't</i>; but the mind goes blank when you ask 'em what love <i>is</i>.
"Love is not a greeting card.
"Love is not a romantic dinner.
"Love is not the phrase, 'I love you.'
"See how easy it is?
"Love is that tigress that sneaks up on you in the 30 seconds after you cum. You swore up and down that you weren't going to fall in love with this one ... but I'll be damned if you didn't start having feelings for her almost as soon as you got your zipper done up. Then you spend a lifetime looking in every woman’s nook and cranny for it only to watch it slip into a distant memory when you walk out on her during dinner.
"One minute, you're holding hands watching some piece of shit talk about honoring this or that knowing full-well that this fucker of a preacher doesn't believe a word he's saying; the next you're looking for any excuse not to go home at night."
The old man looks up to see if anyone is really listening. To his surprise a young red-headed woman is standing on the sidewalk staring at him, letting the foot-traffic organism find its own-damn-way past her. The fumes from over-worked mass transportation vehicles wafted around them.
The old man looked her straight in the eye and said, "Love is watching your children grow up only to become cold-hearted bastards. You didn't raise them to be that way. You tried your hardest, but what did they give you in return? Cold soup and stale bread. Piss-stained sheets and soulless, hand-me-down music on a worn-out old clock radio that sits on a cheap disposable T.V. tray from the local thrift store.
"Fuck 'em I say."
The old man lapsed into silence again. He sighed heavily and leaned back into the bench, "Do I know you?" He regarded the red-headed woman without a hint of recognition.
She walked over to him and placed her hand on his bony, arthritic shoulder, "Let's get you home, Dad," she said gently.
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