The Confederate Captain stood at the base of the steps, enjoying his smoke, the winter-afternoon feeling more like a springtime morning. He was waiting.
He paced back and forth, small quick steps, as his bride came out onto the veranda. Stately and perfect in every aspect, he offered his hand to help her down the steps, looking more out of 1861 than 2021.
Once again, side-by-side, they stood patiently as a woman, a tourist, paused with her manual Canon camera for that better puff of smoke to come from his Swisher Sweet cigar. ‘Click’ sounded the antique camera and the woman smiled, content that she’d captured the perfect frame.
“I didn’t think she’d ever take the picture,” he complained.
His wife smiled, “Why?”
“I gotta go pee, in the worst way,” he answered.
“All the way in the back, last door on the left,” she said, as he hurried up the steps.
The Old Blog in the Desert 
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