Yes They Could

     Cursive is a dying art; I swear the next generation will have no idea what I'm talking about. We don't need it, not in the age of passwords, those essentially personal beings. Its not our name, number or both but a reciprocal, something required to prove its us. Otherwise it could be anyone, just as long as they're here and now.
     It doesn't make sense to argue anymore, to inflict bloodshed or to expect death. The only difference makes all the difference, between you and me, man and woman, immortality and eternal life. The only way to press on is to push the envelope, when we only get tired of keeping it to ourselves.
     I am a genius, an expert, a professional. I don't care what they do or say because they don't exist, not like we do, nowhere near as well. Very possibly they will have their time or have had it, just as well, because in the blink of a weeping eye its gone, blurred from memory, never to return. All that remains is the fundamental truth that we're all in this together, regardless of gender and sex.
     We will not, may not move forward unless and until we agree. It is our job to convince eachother, to ring a bell and call it a key, to break the silence like the bread we were told to so far from here and so very long ago.

The Punchline

     A man walks into a bar. He sits down and a woman brings him a glass of water. The man removes his hat, places it on the table, and takes a drink of the water. He sets the glass back and removes his gloves. The woman asks if he wants anything else. The man asks her for a moment to decide and she says she'll come back. The man picks up the menu in one hand and opens it with the other, thumbing through the pages and reading by candlelight. She comes back and he orders a double whiskey and a coke back. When she comes back again with the drinks he orders fries and closes the menu, placing it back on the table. He continues sipping the water, smells the whiskey and looks at the coke. The fries arrive, she sets them in the middle of the table along with ketchup. He pours an adequate amount upon the red and white checkered paper near the edge of the fry basket, dips a fry and carefully eats it. The man drinks the whiskey, sips the coke and then holds the water glass. He continues eating the fries and sipping the water. Before he finishes the fries, he drinks the rest of the coke, sips the water again, and puts his hat on. The woman comes back, asks if he wants anything else and sets the receipt face down on the table. He shakes his head, she smiles and they thank each other. The man puts more than enough money upon the still face down receipt, puts on his gloves, gets up and leaves.