We Come in Threes

The present me, the young me, and the old me walked into a bar.

"What'll y'all have," the bartender asked us.

"I'll have what he's having," I said, referring to the older me. "If it's not too much trouble, um," I said tenuously, reading his nametag, "Sal."

"Then," old me said, "I'll take a gin-and-tonic."

"Since when?" I asked. I hate gin-and-tonics.

"Since my wife left me."

"I get married?"

"Was she hot?" asked the young me.

"Idiot!" the old me told him.

"I mean," I said, "y'know, tell me about her."

"Included the hotness," added the young me.

"Youth is wasted on the young," the old me said.

"Yea, well, success and affluence are wasted on the old and feeble."

"I may not have any money to show for myself," the old me challenged the young me, but c'mere and I'll show you feeble."

"Incarnations!" I intervened. "Settle down."

"Do you have an ID, young fellah?" Sal asked the young me.

"He can vouch for me," he said, referring to me. "I mean, he's me. If any of us meets the age, we all do. And if I drink now, it's all ancient history for them, right?"

"Nice try, Chief," the bartender told the young me.

"Whatcha having, old man?" he asked the old me.

"I'd like a gin and tonic," the old man reminded him.

"Me, too," I added.

"Me, too," repeated the young me.

"You can have a Shirley Temple if you'd like," Sal suggested.

"That's just not right," I told Sal.

"No," the old me said, "it might just be right."

"Fuck you, old me," the young me shouted.

"No, fuck you right back. You better take some inventory, punk. See what kind of mess your bad decisions are gonna make."

"Thing's ain't so bad," I interjected.

"You, too," he told me. "You've got some bad decisions coming, too. Look at me! Thanks a lot, asshole."

"Who's the asshole here?" I answered. "Things are fine with me now. I can't help it if you took some wrong turns and ended up like this."

"But you can!" he shouted.

"All I know is that for me," the young me said, "my take-home pay's enough to live the sweet life with a bitchin' ride and lots of pussy."

"Asshole!" the old me called him.

"Asshole!" I agreed. "Your bitchin' car's gonna need rings soon."

"Y'know, Sal," I said to the bartender, "when me and the young me and the old me walked into this bar..."

"Sounds like a joke," Sal said. "But the only joke is you."

"Me?" I said. "Look at these jokers."

"Yea, you. Do you really want to live in the past? Or fret what the future might be? Be yourself! Or you're the asshole."

Me, the young me, and the old me walked into this bar. But I walked out alone.