Sit on their park bench
A newspaper blown through the grass
Falls on the round toes
Of the high shoes
Of the old friends
The old men
Lost in their overcoats
Waiting for the sunset
The sounds of the city
Sifting through the trees
Settle like dust
On the shoulders
Of the old friends
Can you imagine us years from today
Sharing a park bench quietly?
How terribly strange to be seventy
Memory brushes the same years
Silently sharing the same fear..
Mike knew what he was getting into when he brought the beer to the cemetery, but it was what they would have expected.
Max was first. Opening the first bottle, Mike closed his eyes and drank, not bothering to go over the what-ifs; he'd done it for 12 years, and it stung like hell. No matter what Don, Liz, Emil, Millie, and now Matt Greevey said, Max's grave still seemed both absurd and horrible. Max wasn't, couldn't be gone...and he was, going on fifteen years now. Even though Mike had reasons to live now, seeing the marker hammered in how much Max had to live for, how much he'd lost. Max had treated him like a rambunctious kid brother, but here Mike was, older now than Max had been when he died, older than Max would ever be. It took three long beers for Logan to work up the will to move on to the next memorial.
"Hey, Len. Long time, no see." He settled back against a neighboring stone, cracking number four open. "You wouldn't beleive the year I've had. Maybe you would...you were always the first guy to get a joke." Taking a long drink, he lapsed into silence, thinking about the changes Lennie had missed, wondering again how Briscoe would have reacted. He could picture his old partner's face breaking into a grin "Married? Baby? You? Oh, now I know the world's coming to an end." Once again, Mike kicked himself for all the missed chances, the "I'll call yous," the get-togethers that never quite got together. "New year's coming, though, Lennie. I can change. I promised people I would. You won't believe it, but I will."
Thinking about work, life, he worried that the words sounded hollow. He drank more and let himself brood. He was trying - that's all he could do. If memories and past friendships meant anything, he owed them that, at least.
Time it was, and what a time it was, it was
A time of innocence, a time of confidences
Long ago, it must be, I have a photograph
Preserve your memories; They're all that's left you..