I was at the gym late last night. On a stationary bike.
An older man came in and started using the one next to me.
He looked overworked. But genuinely pleasant. And he carried
the scent of menthol cigarettes.
Him: "How much longer you got on that bike?"
Me: "Only a couple of minutes."
Him: "You've got the best one. All these other bikes are old.
Everything's too old. I was just in Vegas, and even the hotel beds
are old. Then I went to LA, and their hotel beds are old, too.
Old beds! I'm tired of old things.
Me: "I bet! My uncle was in Vegas last week. He went to a strip show.
He said the stripper came out on stage using a walker."
Him: "A walker?!"
Me: "Yep. Then he asked the waitress to bring him a bottle of their finest.
And she brought him a bottle of sarsaparilla."
Him: "But the one with the walker was dancing? How?"
Me: "With a hip replacement.
At least her job is a lot more commendable than mine."
Him: "What do you do?"
Me: "I sell antique beds."
