While we were having coffee this morning, my friend Keith stopped me from crying about the president of the United States of America starting World War III for personal reasons.
“Who cares if he’s only doing it to fix what his dad couldn’t put right?” Keith asked. “The fuck can you do about it?”
It was rhetorical: not a damn thing
“So, put it outta your mind,” he said. “I’ll tell you how.”
Five years older than me, Keith wasn’t always right, but he often came up with some pretty good points.
“Shoot,” I said.
A tranny passed by, huge boobs, platinum hair and a neck twice the size of mine. She fixed herself in the window of the café and continued down the block. She looked like she gave a shit about Bush, Iraq and the end of the world.
I set my coffee down and settled on Keith’s eyes.
“You have someone who loves you?” He said.
“Best I know.”
“And you love her, right?”
“With all I got.”
“Okay, you’re one-for-one,” he said. “Do you have something in your life you are passionate about?”
“Several of them.”
“Great. Here’s my last question: Do you have a place to rest your head at night?”
“Yep, same place every night.”
“Okay, then, quit your fucking complaining. You got more than most men’ll ever have. Leave the war-mongering to the war mongers, and just do your thing.”
He leaned back for punctuation.
“It’s that easy, huh?” I asked.
“That’s all there is to it,” he said, raising his eyebrows and smiling.