I counted 97 grey hairs on my head today. I didn’t have to go to work so I could do it very slowly. In fact, at one point, I lost count and said “Damn it!” although I do not generally curse; but there was no one at home and so I could say “Damn it!” and so I laughed a little afterwards and said it again. “DAMN IT!” I said, really loud this time. I could do that because I live in the country; my nearest neighbor lives over 3 miles away: who would be offended? The cows in the field next to my house might very well be; I have never had a chance to count them, so, since I was fired from my job today, I thought, “Why not?” And then I said, “Damn it!” really loud again, and started to cry. I cried because I thought, “My wife is dead.” People loved to curse at my old job, and I won’t even cry like a baby, usually. Five trees outside my window, twelve shards of glass underneath my window, four clouds in the sky, a chocolate bar in my pocket. One cow in particular has what I would like to call “a real attitude.” “Don’t,” I admonish, “point that schnoz at me!” Mr. Cow, or, if you prefer, Ms. Cow. Apropos of that, nine drops of blood on the floor. Mom used to say, Do Something For Yourself. It’s good advice. I like to take it. Now what? Fourteen drops of blood on the floor. I do five things for myself every day. I never buy hair dye. Live and Let Live is my motto. Accentuate The Positive. Twenty drops of blood on the floor. What would I say if she were here? Late at night, it is so peaceful, I think I can hear the sound of whistling. It’s as though Huck Finn is whistling. He’s whistling, but naw, he’s not. I think I thought so, because he is so lonely. And he has grown old over the years. It’s so quiet out. Damn it. Goddamn it. Now it’s thirty. For the record, there are over 20 cows in the field next to my house. 40.