Old Men, Death, and Modernity
“Hey George, lemme see that new thing you’ve got there.”
“It ain’t a thing Richie, it’s an iPhone and you ain’t touching it.” George said this with such an aggressive and deliberate tone that it nearly shocked eighty-nine year old Richie to the point of falling off of his stool on the front porch of the retirement home.
Grey haired George stood up from his small wooden stool and walked over to Richie holding up the iPhone. Eyes wild with the sun slowly setting in front of him he exclaimed, “You see this! I have the world at my fingers now and ain’t got no need for being young anymore or having this or that. Everything I need is on here.”
There was a moment of silence which ended with Richie slowly drawing out a grin. George took another step forward and pushed Richie off of his stool, unwittingly dropping his new iPhone in the process. Richie tumbled backwards and his grey-haired head split open on the wooden decking of the patio.
The thump of head and iPhone broke the silence of the evening. Jazz music began to play inside the retirement home and blood began to pool around the listless body of Richie. George cursed and scooped up the iPhone before the blood reached it.
“Would you look at that, god damn it, it’s cracked!”
