He tossed the newspaper next to his beer.

Nice paper, I said.

Don't make fun, he said. 

I am not making fun of it.

My wife died, he said. She was 44. Waving the paper, he said, she's in here. Cancer, he said. It came and went and when it came back this time, we knew. She was so sick at the end.

I later found her on page three.

He asked, don't you ever wonder why people come in here?

Sometimes it's obvious, I said. But you just come in on Thursdays for a couple of beers.

She was so sick, he said. I sometimes needed a beer and an hour or two.

How are you? I asked.

He tapped on the paper beside his glass. 

He said she went quickly at the end, but spent the last year on vacations, going places, She had a good life, but only half.

He walked out with the paper in his hand. The door thumped shut behind him. 

I'll be sad forever over this.

----------------

I didn't want to think about the sky or the time flying by above me. I was sad like a sunset. I was waiting for rain. The storm clouds were coming. I heard far-away thunder again, then the dusk and the dark.