They Call Me Fred

His weathered face gave away how hard life might have been. But as he spoke of stories old he told each with a grin. He seemed to me, a happy soul his tone was soft and kind. Unbothered by the little things, a wisdom hard to find. We sat and talked for quite some time just drinking in the day. When suddenly he looked as though no longer could he stay. He then stood up held out his hand, we shook, and then he said; "Please don't call me Mr. Jones, my friends all call me Fred." Written by, Sheri Lynne Evans February 11, 2020