Lady and the Tramp

From the depths of his bulky greatcoat he fished out his silver watch. This time, the sparkle in his wrinkled eyes owed nothing to fast-downed Scotch so much as hailing from some inner pride he'd never shown me before I set down bags of shopping sat beside him on the floor. "Tell me Thomas; won't you tell all your stories of the war but remember, I'm a lady too sensitive for gore. I'd much rather hear of exploits: chickens plucked from foreign coops, postcard pictures of starlets who'd entertained the troops. long-lost parcels turning up or maybe a Dear John letter Leg-lost or love-lost? I know both are poor but I feel the latter's better." Not for the first time, this old hobo gave a hearty, loud guffaw "You're a lady and a tonic a sweet hearted gal you're an angel too, I'm sure!" I stayed an hour or so and listened enrapt by his colourful tales As he talked, the old man seemed younger to me and I smiled for my ploy never fails. As usual, I took away more than I'd brought -the sense that I still have my uses I wish I'd done more before I grew old but the young are adept with excuses.