And so it came to pass, after two score and 15 years, he sat on his front porch.
He had lived most of his life like a rollercoaster sex-circus dipped in bourbon chocolate, bouncing from one addiction, one relationship, one job, and one home to the next – like a Superball shot from a cannon in a trampoline park.
He was tired. He was sore. But he was finally happy. Most of all, he was one lucky son-of-a-bitch.
The cats, one black and one white, sat around the front porch wall, like elegant (if tiny) sentries, guarding him from the rest of the weird world.
Is was early summer, just before noon. Not too hot. Not too cold. Just right.
The birds chirped merrily, to say the least.
