I’ve never passed him close enough to be able to identify him in a police lineup – not that I’d need to. Just saying.
For some reason we are at apogee with each other no matter which way we twist or turn. I see him stride across the walkway from the little market run by the Indian family and stride briskly by the ten half-barrels filled with brilliant magenta petunias as I am unloading the wee little dog for her twice daily walk. By the time I’m at the point he started he’s at the far end and begins the long bisecting walkways through the grass around the bandshell.
He is bald, although whether this is natural or if his head is shaven is impossible to tell from this distance. His shoulders are broad and he seems in good shape as he walks briskly whilst I walk with the little dog who sniffs at every blade of grass, half-barrel of flowers, tree trunk, and fence post.
Soon he’s gone down a side street and I lose track of him. Usually he wears a team-style shirt with a number on it – 34 – in a dark blue color. There are days when I’m wearing a rain coat and he’s wearing just that team-style shirt. He is nothing, if not consistent, with his brisk walk and his determination to cover however much ground he has decided to cover.
Then he is back again, marching beside the brilliant magenta petunias. Perhaps some day we will cross paths in our little daily journeys. We will either nod silently New England style or I’ll venture a verbal greeting and a smile Western style – in which case he may look startled and glance away New England style or smile and return the greeting Western style. One never knows about these things.