He walked, Streamers of his Youth trailing behind him frayed from the punishing winds stretching back to his youth, sweet howls and howling howls, too many strangers, not enough friends; too few precious loves.

His hands dug deeper into his pockets looking for lost treasures there which time, the pirate, had stolen; who stood on the prow of his departing ship yelling, “good bye me hearty” while he kept moving because there is little else to do except accept being pushed ahead when there is no behind left, no taut abs, no sideways devastating glance, no new photo or book, no shots, no gig, no popping eyes and double-take, caught breathy stares, when

he walked by; that replaced now by the bemused indifference of those with barely twenty candles on their cake, whose mumbled muffled compliments like “old lion” without a roar, “used to be” references, and “I think he was” allusions, calculating stances in your path, asking for autographs, references and jobs, beseeches and telephone numbers the scribbled on business cards, of the those just learning to put on the clown paint while you write your name bemoaning how art and hard work is strangled in the crib by these unknowingly seeking their futures, each claiming they didn’t have the price of dues, and saw no need.

He stops before the office mirror for a last look before having to stand before the humiliation desk, before the twenty-five year old, whose perfect stand up collar shirt was only slightly younger than he was, would take up paper to avoid looking at him, shocked as all the young are by any age five more than their own, who had already practiced the mime of saying no to those who had not gotten the word they had passed and were now gone; his, the impatience of the young, who think that the old never know when it is time to go who linger past their prime time and like stick people in the drawing speak but have no torsos.

He unsheathed his photo which had been taken prior to his conception placing it on the desk and took his preying mantis stance while youth sat languidly sure that this outcome was not in doubt and courtesy was the only thing here at risk and in twenty minutes New York time he would be able to take the hot text message from Camilla of Last Night and then be free to stare outside his corner window leisurely wondering how high is high and how difficult it is to find the perfect place for lunch with one’s The Night Before.