Strokes
A gentleman with not a little experience of life and the haphazard we put into order through its resemblance to meant to be etc. confides in his walking stick his careful position on the pavement, plotting his and the oncoming traffic’s co-ordinates, almost seamlessly. Delicate and gentle like, he scrimps on the space between himself and passer-by. His smile is greeted by an abashed apology and sidestepped oddly. He’d never been to the Falklands, his time in the Miner’s strike, on the other side, formative but brief it seemed. He frequented coffee shops sometimes- as he saw it people went there who had too much time and thus this might expand upon the awkward ‘Hi’.