The man watched a Neil Simon
comedy from the 70’s and tear-
ed up over the music of that

day. Experiencing the existential
return to that era, he admitted
that he can’t get over things.

He drags the past along with
him like a sack of rocks on a
Western Flyer which he pulls

down the sidewalk of the first
neighborhood he can remember —
experiences, friends, family —

gone, some especially dear ones.
The man sat in a bar chatting
with a couple he didn’t know.

The guy was from northern Ill-
inois, a little town by the Wis-
consin border. The man knew

the town and a couple that lived
there. The man said he had a high
school and junior college friend

who owns a jewelry store in town.
The man had purchased the wedding
ring for his late wife at the store.

The store owner’s name is Dennis,
he said. Then he caught himself.
His friend’s name was Dennis. He’s

dead. The guy at the bar said the
store closed two years ago. That’s
what he means. Dennis is one of

the rocks in the bag on the Western
Flyer he pulls down the sidewalk
of the man’s old neighborhood

as he sits at the bar.