The old man, retired I’m thinkin’, sat motionless on his covered porch out in the country. What grabs my attention is a small, bright orange can of Prince Albert tobacco poking out of the chest pocket of his well-worn Key overalls. In a quick glance, it resembled a blossoming flower announcing itself to the world. In a more thoughtful look, it was tucked in those overalls just as tight as a wallet, maybe more so. His rough, workingman hands took turns cradling a well-used pipe. Tobacco smoldering, the chewed-on end barely rested on his lower lip, moving only when he spoke.