We are Falling Like Ripe Apples Out a Tree

We are old. We are like ripe apples falling from the tree. I just talked to an old school high school mate on the phone. She asked if I knew our friend Johnny Pascoe died just three days after Ed West died. Then she told me Jesse Lowman died, he fell off a ladder. The last I heard Jesse was running a gambling table in Mississippi. I always thought Jesse was more of an intellectual than the rest of us in our little click. Falling off a ladder killed Jesse. Jesse used to like to get behind me in a waiting, non-moving crowd, reach around me and pinch the person, either male or female, in the ass. Then jerk his hand back and look the other way and leave me to take the blame. I learned to stand behind him.