Bill One Thursday Morning 2024.

Bill sits in the old public bar in town. He had to get a bit of time away from the Lodge and its dying or brain dead. He sits in a corner away from the talkers at the bar. He sips the beer, dying for a cigarette, but know he can't because of British laws. The beer is cold and has a bitter taste he likes. He reflects on Colton the other agent who told him of the shooting of JFK. Knew more than he could say. Someone laughed at the bar: some crude stuff probably. He sips more beer and avoids the mouth at the bar yaking away. He met JFK briefly one afternoon in 63 passed down the passageway. He said a few words, but Bill can't recall what it was he had to say. Someone put music on the jukebox in the corner, a relic of the old times still working. Some days time slips away and leaves no impression, but now and then a memory rattles around the brain like a stone in a tin can again and again.