BOB IS STILL RACING THROUGH LIFE. Maybe not as fast as you, but at 82 he doesn't appear to be slowing down. Each Saturday, me and the crew blow by him too fast to chat.
I just yell, Hi Bob!
He waves from his perch.
Today I was alone, so I slowed to to chat a bit.
He asked where the gang was. I joked they'd slept it. Too wimpy to brave the unusual 30 degree weather. I let on they were racing. He asked why I wasn't with them. Darn flu. As if to acknowledge life itself and my relative youth, They'll be other races.
Life goes so fast
if we don't slow down and say hello
we may be left with goodbye.
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