“Why do you say that?” I asked.
“Say what, dear boy?” Mark replied, still staring out to sea.
“’Be good and you will be lonesome,’” I said.
Mark blinked his eyes and took a long pull on his cigar. Waves crashed against the side of the haul. The salty sea air almost flung the hat off his head.
“It’s April Fools’ Day, you know.” Mark set his feet on the railing. “As if being a fool only happens to a man once a year.”
Mark looked back out at sea, his gray curls shaking in the wind. “As if being lonely only happens when you’re alone.”
“You . . . ” I asked pensively. “You make it sound like every day is April Fools’ Day.”
“Because it is, dear boy,” Mark replied with a wide smile, now looking at me while tugging at his cigar, strings of smoke curling around his mustache.
Prose copyright Mike Yost 2017