“One more for the road.”, he said before he left into the darkness upon his motorcycle.

“He didn’t make it home.”, I heard over the phone as the quiet was deafening.

“Where could he be? Its now past three in the morning!”

The sheriff just pulled up. He asked for a cup of coffee.

“Old man died today, when he hit a tree. No skid marks were seen. He had on a high beam, I just can’t make sense his reasoning.”

“Did he have an odd tattoo of a shoe on his right forearm?”

“I can’t rightly say, wasn’t much left that wasn’t shredded.”

“Did you find a yellow cat bungeed to the oh shit bar?”

“Oh, man, it was like a crushed can. It’s ready for recycling.”

“He is home!”, she rang to tell me he made it.

Who is the old man? We will find out in the paper on Sunday.