Frankie, the retired pilot, sits at my kitchen table and says,
“I was a dog; A real flyboy. I drank like a fish and cheated on my first wife.”

I smile at him, uneasy with this odd confession; I hardly know him. I didn’t even know Cynthia was his second wife.

“Oh, yes, I was in the Air Force, lived in Europe for years. Put my wife through hell, God rest her soul.”

Funny, how easy it is to slip a person into a slot and never think they have a whole story, just like you.

I pour him some more coffee. We are just neighbors, sharing a meal while Cynthia is on a walking tour of England.

He’s easily the age of my father; I look at his worn face and wonder about the women who found him irresistible.