The old man walked haltingly into the bar. He moved as though he had a cane, although he didn’t so you might say he walked like a man who had lost his cane. As his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he noticed a young man with a cast on his arm who was drinking at the end of the bar.
The old man shambled over next to him.
“I saw your performance last night,” he said. “I know what your favorite album is.”
“Huh?!” the young man stammered.
“Talking Heads. More Songs About Buildings and Food.”
“Damn! You’re right.”
The old man pointed at the cast on the young man’s arm. “When you get that cast off, make sure you do your rehab. All of it. Otherwise, you’ll end up like me.”
The old man finished his drink and began to move toward the jukebox. He walked haltingly, as if he had a cane, but he didn’t so you might say he walked like a man who had lost his cane.
Short story / 2011