gathered on the wooden deck of the old-fashioned corner store, they called themselves the wrinkled roosters. the store rooster strutted around on the deck, allowing all of us to occupy her space for a few minutes.
the wrinkled roosters club members, however, arrive at the deck early each morning to kibbitz, to gossip, to solve world problems, and in our case, to entertain the tourists. six of them, each funnier than the other, cracked jokes in rhythm.
"yow, we come here every mornin', then leave when our wives call us," the one they call catfish said.
"fortunately, none of us have our phones turned on," chimed in crawfish.
another fell in love with edith, our rider with a german accent. he was interested in taking her home, but she wouldn't go when she found out he smoked. that was a deal-breaker for her.
all six retired from manufacturing plants which have since closed. they named general electric, firestone, and others. one guy in overalls said the day he retired was the happiest day of his life.
after fifteen minutes of front-porch entertainment, it was time for us to get on our bikes and mosey on down the tennessee road.
"you got any money?" catfish asked.
"no, but i have lots of time," i answered. "you got the money, honey, i got the time."
"that's a song," the quiet one said.
"you guys need to start a band. you'd be hilarious," i suggested.
"silver fox here has a cd out. you can buy one in the store," volunteered crawfish.
"anyone famous live around here?" i asked.
"justin timberlake grew up at that last subdivision you saw. tom cruise was staying here when he was working on "the firm", and oh, yeah, carmen diaz stopped by here one day," catfish said.
sit on the deck long enough with the wrinkled roosters and the world passes by.
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