Fifty Fifty

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Ragged? Yes. He sat on the next bench down the sidewalk arguing with himself for more than a half hour while I sat just taking in the square and the weather.

Yes, it was maybe a fifty fifty chance which way he’d turn when he got up. Coming my way it was suddenly a sure thing now, engagement. Count down ‚Ķfive, four, three, two, he paused and looked at me. I felt like a furry creature looking up from the bottom of a waste basket. He took a look at my bike.

“I used to have a bike,” he started.

I almost said the sight of a bike can stir up good memories.

“I once kept my seat up high like you have there too,” he said.

I was busy thinking that I had a dollar and a fiver in my wallet. What will it be? I wondered.

“I lowered my seat,” he said. “I guess I am a natural lowrider.”

And that was all. He smiled and shambled off.

I was glad I didn’t offer him my sympathetic tones or a one or a five. For the moment he was doing fine. And who was I to steal that from him?