A man Called Sarge

There is nothing in common about myself and Sarge
i dont’ even remember his real name although i can remember almost every conversation over coffee or menthol
Retired from the military, hailing from Alabama where the town still has his last name why he took to me im not too sure really
Bringing be southern home cooking for lunch plus coffee when he knew i was there we would talk over everything going on that day ,life and all the bullshit in between all in the matter of ten minute intervals
whether it be about this redheaded girl, this other redhead girl or Richard Pryor we both had the same outlook for the most part being many years apart
when we spoke of me moving back to NY
all that was said from him was “well im not giving you a goodbye youve’ a better head than me ,dont call me either just think of old Sarge when you have that drink just say what you leprechauns say then drink”
I didnt’ try calling him because it wasnt’ his way
even though he kept me sane for the brief time i knew him there
Keeping tabs on him through other friends we knew was enough
theres a memorial setup up by the building where we used to work
buried in Alabama
only a month after i had left
He still keeps me sane

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