Jimmy and Bill shot themselves when alcohol didn’t work anymore. The grip of of loneliness pulled them in. Blood coagulates as it does. We become offline-a searchable obit. But mostly scrolled by. The syllabus of our few decades fades in an obsolete file cabinet. The narrow brown mare looks suspiciously, nips, shifts, and dances beneath my weight. I am a bother to her. She decides not to throw me this time. But make no mistake, I am dispensable, quickly replaced by the next student.