There’s a man I see every morning during my commute time. He carries a peanut butter colored, 1970’s styled briefcase. He’s usually dressed sharp and his path is determined. When he walks, it’s more like a march. When he runs, it’s more like a prance. He never moves his upper body.
I wiggled my nose, blinked my eyes, and pulled into the local grocery store. I saw the man march up to a sign spinner. She had earphones and was wiggling to her own beat. He tapped her on the shoulder, their eyes met, and she kissed him on the cheek.