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He’s old.  The kind of old where you are nervous to watch him.  Everything he does is slow motion.  He’s frustrated because he is aware of his sluggishness.  He wants his tired, brittle limbs to move faster.  His brain is not tired, only his body.  He curses it daily, for giving the wrong impression.  His skin is covered in spots that show his age.  However, the day has come when they are no longer necessary.

His feet shuffle.  He leans on every surface for support.

“Hello.” Shuffle. Shuffle. Shuffle.

I look up.  He is still a world away.  But he is impatient.  He is dressed in a denim shirt.  Light, worn.  It was tucked into his khakis which once fit him, but were now baggy.  He wore a big turquoise pendant about his neck.  His cardigan hid his slim torso.  His hair was neat, white.  He was kind despite his impatience.

Shuffle.  Shuffle.  Shuffle.

“Hello sir.  How are you?”

Silence.  He focused on his feet.

“Ohh, just fine.”  His voice was wobbly.  “Do you sell flowers?”  He asked deliberately.  “Single flowers?”  He clarified.

“Yes. We sell daisies by the stem.”

“Well, I have come to by a flower for my wife.”

Shuffle.  Shuffle. Shuffle.

He and his wife have been in love for well over my forever.  He smiles when he thinks of her.  She is kind, but stubborn.  Their wedding photo sits on the dresser in their bedroom.  It has yellowed slightly.  The age makes it graceful.

“We live right up the street.”  He is proud of his spontaneity.

I sell this man with the turquoise pendant three yellow daisies for his graceful, stubborn wife.  He shuffles away.  He is less impatient now.  His need for a random moment in his day has been fulfilled by a few flowers for his spouse.  His friend.

His hands wrap around those long green stems tight.  His hands are rough.  The sun had caused deep grooves to be etched within them.

“Thank you.”  He yells as he slowly makes his way to the door.

“You’re welcome.”  I say to the man.

Shuffle. Shuffle. Shuffle.


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