Blue Hairs
Joyce Daniels

"Did you hear?" Pepper asked.

"What?"

"Bert's got a new manager."

"Oh, that. So what? That ain't nothing to celebrate. Hell, what's there to celebrate? Hey, Janelle, bring me another beer, will you?" Jake Goodall had places to go. Things to see. Oh, hell, who was he kidding? He'd lived in his mosquito infested hellhole since the twenties. Shit, it was 1951. He rubbed the back of his hand over his five-day old beard and glanced out at his skiff. Seas were too rough today. He'd hang right where he was.

"Hey, Jake, look, man, two more blue hairs just walked in." Pepper's voice was a sneer.

Jake rotated his head more to satisfy his friend then to look. Who cared about a blue hair? They all looked the same. He often joked about them spreading heavy loads of makeup over their wrinkled faces and turkey necks. "My, oh my," he mumbled. "Now, that's something to celebrate!" His voice held awe as he gazed steadily at one of the blue hairs who had just walked in the door.

It had been a long time since he'd thought of a woman's beauty. After losing his wife when he was in his mid-fifties, he'd assumed he'd left that all behind--back there with dragging himself home on all fours and puking in alleyways.

He stood and for the first time in years straightened his collar and pushed his shirt down in his bulging pants.

First published: February, 2007
comments to the writer: Knob'sWriter@iceflow.com