Mr. Empty Coke Can

But the more I thought of it, the more grim and monumental the prospect became. To retire someone from kick-assdom is a grave and serious thing, perfectly acceptable, yes, but not something to be done lightly. I pushed through the vines and weeds to the tiny dock on the lakeshore. I opened my antique tool box, and picked out one of the smooth, perfectly round stones inside it. I skipped stone after stone. Then I had a silent conversation with a decrpit empty Coke can. Then, after making a witness pact with the Cola, I skipped the last stone, along with all my ambivalences. We both agreed that I was now the regal ass-kicker, and that I should go into the world and flaunt it for all to see.