he has short legs but a wide stride.
like every step he is trying to make it over a puddle.
salt and peper hair mixed over brown, sweepin down to touch arched brows.
he is on his phone
lisping through t's and r's, trowing his voice to mimic a nagging woman.
then he paces, listens, quiet.
mouth open, thin knobby hand tracing his round cheek.
the voice on the phone talking
making nervous optimism grow in his blue eyes
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