[INTRO — NIGHT / FRONT PORCH / 11:46 P.M.] [CRICKETS / DISTANT TRAFFIC] Twenty years. Funny… when you’re young, twenty years sounds like forever. When you’ve lived ’em… feels like somebody turned the page too fast. [ROCKING CHAIR CREAKS] I sat on my porch. Grey in my beard now. Grandkids’ pictures inside. Twenty years sober. Family finally sleeping upstairs. And underneath the sound of the night… I heard something I hadn’t heard in twenty years. [FAINT FEMALE SOUL “AHHHH”] I smiled. Didn’t even turn around. MAN: Took you long enough. DEATH: Hello again. ⸻ [VERSE 1] Black jacket. Same face. Not one wrinkle. Motherfucker looked exactly like the last time I saw him. MAN: You ever change clothes? DEATH: You know how expensive these are? I laughed. Death sat beside me. For a while… neither of us said anything. MAN: So… this is it? DEATH: You tell me. MAN: Don’t start that mysterious shit again. Death smiled. Then looked toward the house. DEATH: Twenty years. MAN: Yeah. DEATH: You remember what I told you? MAN: Every fucking word. ⸻ [HOOK] Twenty years since I poured that bottle down, Twenty years since I turned my life around. I loved. I lost. I laughed. I cried. And if you’re finally here for me tonight… I’m ready. No running. No begging for tomorrow. I borrowed every sunrise that my brother couldn’t follow. If this is where the road ends… I can finally say— I’m ready. Let’s go. ⸻ [VERSE 2] Death looked surprised. Just a little. DEATH: That’s it? MAN: What’s it? DEATH: No begging? MAN: Nope. DEATH: No “Give me another year?” MAN: Nah. DEATH: Six months? MAN: I’m good. DEATH: One more day? I thought about it. MAN: I’d take one. DEATH: There it is. MAN: I said I’d take one. Didn’t say I needed one. [BEAT DROPS] Death leaned back. DEATH: You’ve changed. MAN: That was kinda the fucking idea. ⸻ [VERSE 3] Twenty years sober. Wasn’t easy. First year damn near broke me. There were nights I stood in front of liquor stores… keys still in the ignition. Could hear that bottle calling. Then I’d reach inside my pocket. That old piece of paper. Faded. Folded a hundred times. Four words: DON’T WASTE THIS ONE. So I didn’t. Went to meetings. Made apologies. Some accepted. Some didn’t. Learned something: Saying sorry doesn’t mean they owe you forgiveness. You just make it right because making it right matters. My daughter got married. I walked her down the aisle. DAUGHTER — MEMORY: Love you, Dad. MAN — MEMORY: Love you too, baby. And I was there. Not drunk. Not missing. There. ⸻ [VERSE 4] My grandson came along. Then another. Then another. They knew my name. Hell… they wouldn’t leave me alone. CHILD — MEMORY: Grandpa! MAN: What?! CHILD: Come play! MAN: My knees hurt! CHILD: Come on! MAN: Alright, alright! [CHILDREN LAUGHING] I traveled. Saw the ocean again. Watched sunsets without wondering why I was still alive to see them. Loved somebody. Lost somebody. Buried my mother. But this time… I was there before she went. Held her hand. Said everything I would’ve wished I’d said. MOTHER — MEMORY: You turned out alright, baby. MAN — MEMORY: Took me long enough. ⸻ [HOOK] Twenty years of ordinary days, Turns out ordinary was the thing worth being saved. Birthday cakes. Sunday mornings. Arguments. Goodbyes. Little things I would’ve missed if I’d spent my whole life asking why. So if you’re finally here for me tonight… I’m ready. ⸻ [VERSE 5 — DEATH REMEMBERS] Death looked at me. DEATH: You know… twenty years ago you were terrified of me. MAN: Still am. Death turned. DEATH: You are? MAN: Hell yeah. I don’t know what’s on the other side. Anybody who says that ain’t scary is full of shit. DEATH: Then why aren’t you begging? I looked through the window. Family pictures covering the wall. My daughter’s wedding. Grandkids. Vacations. Twenty-year sobriety chip. And one picture… me and him. My best friend. Young. Stupid. Alive. MAN: Because being afraid to die and regretting how you lived… ain’t the same thing. [DRUMS STOP] Death said nothing. MAN: I’m scared. But I don’t have regrets big enough to ask for twenty more years. I used what he gave me. ⸻ [VERSE 6 — THE QUESTION RETURNS] Death stood. DEATH: Then I suppose there’s only one question left. I laughed. MAN: I already know. Death extended his hand. Same hand. Same question hanging between us for twenty years. I looked at it. Then looked toward the house. MAN: Can I do one thing first? Death checked his watch. I laughed. MAN: Come on, man. DEATH: Alright. One. I walked inside. Didn’t wake anybody. Didn’t need some dramatic goodbye. I’d spent twenty years telling them I loved them. [SOFT PIANO] I walked through the hallway. Touched my daughter’s picture. Grandkids. Family. Then stopped at his. My brother. My best friend. The man who chose me.
