Folksinger

"Folksinger"
by Jake Kilroy

AN EXCERPT:
"There ain't a wind I can't carry, no sun I can't meet, no woman I can't please," the folksinger said, squinting at the sinking sun, a bright orange engulfing the valley.

"Sounds pretty arrogant," Henry remarked.

"I wasn't saying. I was quoting."

"Quoting who?"

"Don't know. Someone else. You know these fields will be turned into houses one day and those birds will have no songs."

"Yea, I know."

"And the world will lose another good artist for modern movement. One more gravesite for a beautiful work. Fine time for a last hurrah."

"Is that why you're drinking?"

"No, it's why I'm thinking, why I'm talking, why I'm wondering where all the women are that I once knew."

"Not here at sunset, that's for sure. You just got me."

"I'll take it."

The two watched the sky fall, sitting atop a creaky wooden fence. The birds sang as the sky went from orange to to red, then to purple, then to black. Then the crystal stars came out to shine in the moonlight. And the two just sat there with new beers and old words.