This Modern Age

The poet Derek J. Rhodes called me from a pay-phone in Roswell, New Mexico, last night.

"You're leaving soon, aren't you?"

"I fly out to Maryland bright and early Tuesday morning," I replied.

"Good. It's about time you get to work. You remember our agreement?" Rhodes referred to a pact to do what we could to make people feel less lonely, made at a strip club in Duluth.

"Yeah," I said. "I'll try my best."

Rhodes cursed. "Do or do not. There is no try."

I paused while I tried to figure out where I had heard that adage before. "Yoda from Star Wars said that, didn't he?"

Rhodes laughed. "I guess he did. If there's one thing I've learned from my time here in Roswell, it's that this modern age is desperate for wisdom. We've got to take our sages where ever we can find them."

"Think you'll be heading to the East Coast anytime soon?"

Rhodes hemmed and hawed. "Maybe. I'll let you know if I do."

"Fair enough," I said. "Until then."

"'Till then," Rhodes said and hung up.