Rodomontade

The old man stopped walking along the wide dusty road and sat on the bench. He looked to his left, toward the town he had left behind. Then he looked to his right, toward the great unknown.

He recalled himself as a young boy, the heralded champion, genius, hero. "This boy is going places," everyone said. "This boy will see the world, and then rule it."

The truth is, he'd never left home. Not one in all his seventy years. Not to another country, not to another state, not even to another town or city. The farthest he ever got was the specialty fishing store down on Holly Street. And they'd been closed.

Now he was finally making good on the words of his townspeople.

Now it was a little late.

Does it make a difference? Better late than never?

Well, he would find out. Just as soon as he was done resting on this bench.