"Bob the Polar Bear Diver"

At seventy-five, he dived twenty-eight times.
A "macho-man" accumalted to the cold.
"Better to win, but better to be a good loser." He pointed face on.

"The weather is fucked up.", he said.
" You know of the coming, well it is on its way soon, but who really cares if we all go poof."

"Boom!"
"We are all going to go right?" he stared at me, like an information booth on hold.

"Yep, poof!" I blew cigarette smoke to the right in order not to offend.
"Absoultely." I kinda sang those words to him, like opera. He smiled.

"You come to New York, come back."
"You belong here." he grabbed my hand. We were both made for this conversation.
"Of course, Bob, and I hope to have more of these moments." I pulled out my borrowed keys to upstairs.

"I am going, to the cemetary to lay flowers on my wife's grave and my son passed two years back." The pavement was his focus.
A fire truck sirened by.
What do you say in these moments.
"I will see you soon." I patted him on the back.
"Keep being a fish and everything will be in place." I hugged him, proudly.
"You'll be back and next time with a husband."

I watched him walk away. He limped and did not pay attention to traffic.