Biker At the Drugstore

It’s a very busy drug store with seats along the wall where folks who wait for refills sit and sometimes chat but as I discover you can leave the store worse off than when you walk in. The fellow next to me's a biker as his attire says, a red bandana around his head a black leather jacket with zippers dashing everywhere. I’ve never met a biker but everything is fine until he presses something in his neck and says his vocal chords were harvested by cancer. I lie and say I understand but then he adds he's been told he now has liver cancer. He’s picking up some meds he hopes will let him live. The doctor says six months. Again I lie and say I understand but who am I to understand. I’ve never had cancer. I tell my wife later, next to marrying her, the smartest thing I’ve ever done was quit two packs a day and vodka straight no chaser on the weekends. That was 50 years ago. She says marrying her was nowhere near the smartest thing. Quitting all that stuff was better. I suspect my biker friend if he had another chance at life would join me. Donal Mahoney