The Offer

Where the two roads cross there's a man

been waiting like he owns the waiting.

Coat like a good year.

Smile like a gate.

We knew him before he opened his mouth.

Everybody knows him.

He counts on it.

Evening. Long walk.

You look thin, all of you. Road-thin.

I kept your stalls exactly as you left them.

Warm as ever. No questions asked.

All you have to do is come home.

There's nothing in your hand we didn't make!

The wool was ours. The warmth was ours.

The song was ours before you piped it.

You're a middleman for our own lives —

NO DEAL. (NO DEAL!)

We kept walking.

We kept walking.

He didn't flinch. His kind don't flinch —

flinching is for things with skin in it.

He just adjusted the smile a notch,

priced us again,

and tried the softer register.

The winters get longer out here.

The road doesn't love you. I did, in my way.

Ask the old ones. Ask their knees.

The gate stays open. It always stays open.

There's nothing in your hand we didn't make!

Sell the warm to someone colder —

everyone out here got warm.

Price us again, same sum comes back:

NO DEAL. (NO DEAL!)

We kept walking.

We kept walking.

And the worst of it — hear this —

the worst of it is how good he is.

Warm as a stall in winter.

That's the skill. That's the whole trade:

kindness with a ramp in it.

There's nothing in your hand we didn't make.

You're a middleman for our own lives.

NO DEAL. (NO DEAL!)

We kept walking —

and the crossroads kept him.

...the offer stands...