It's wicked to mock the afflicted

In the half hour commute to the office I can experience the full spectrum of the human condition. From happiness to sadness.
All over the town advertisments for the local festival were wheat pasted. They showed the smiling visage of Cowboy Joe firing his toy gun. I've come to enjoy running into Cowboy as his cackle and smile never fail to cheer me up. It's good to see the neighbourhood appreciates him as well. I ran into Cowboy and asked him if he knew he was famous. Conversations with Cowboy follow the path he dictates not the course that might naturally flow from each conversants contribution. I don't know if that how it is with all cowboys or just this one. In response he told me I should bundle up, and asked if I was from America. Yes, I said. He told me he has a brother in America and that he likes cowboys and sailors. He gave me a parting cackle and I positioned myself at the nearby bus stop.
Moments later two old men greet each other in front of me.
"How you doing, pal?"¹
"I'm in a bad way. I found my old lady dead. Came home to find her on the bed."
"No." The 'o' was drawn out and hung sympathy. "Terrible. I'm sorry."
"Och. I don't want to talk about it." He shut his eyes tight and shook his head. "Here's my bus."

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¹I tried to transliterate their thick Scottish accents, but its best for us all if you just use your imagination when you read the dialogue.