I met John about a year ago, back when I started my new job. He was part of a group of people I lovingly refer to as “salty, old cunts”; grumpy, old men that have been around the block more times than they care to count. They say it like it is and though they come off as assholes, they have a side to them as golden as any saint. Now, John and I never got along too well; I messed up a transaction on his account when I first started, and that was his chance to give me hell for the next couple of months. It wasn’t until mid June he finally eased off and joked around with me. He told me about his wilder days, the day he met the love of his life and how time had not been kind to her. She suffered from fairly serious episodes of Parkinson’s and would have episodes in the bank now and then. Regardless, I came to really enjoy the times he came to chat and pull out a couple bucks. He came in a month ago to apply for a loan; old geezer wanted to start working on his golf swing and land himself a nice set of clubs to get started. Just the sort of thing a salty, old bastard would do to really start enjoying the golden years of his life.

He died of a heart attack a week later.

His wife came in today to provide his death certificate to close out his account.

Life really is so much shorter than we think. One week you’re approved for a loan to get started on an old dream and the next week you’re widowed wife is closing out your account. We live like we have forever but we are all on borrowed time.

Rest in peace, John, ya old geezer.


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