I'll see this life out before I consider any other possibilities. The shadows creep in but hide little from me. This place is my tombstone. Nothing fancy, no profound inscription of forever love and remembrance. Just me under here, with the tools of trade and the barber as company while we smoke under the blue sky and dream of lust and distant lands, of fortunes buried in a misadventure and some aches and pains accompanying the scars of a sudden stop or a miscalculated path. Customs are gone, along with a nod of the hat and a hand shake. Not even a smile from a pretty girl or an inquisitive look from a child and his dog. Just suspicion and distance. Its time to close the shop. My time, not theirs. No-one rides any more. Too busy. Too self-conscious. Today I'll walk home.