Smoky Musings

Swisher SweetsMost mornings, I see him there, in the park. The old man drives up and walks to a bench, sunny or shady according to season. Every time, he pulls out a cigar, some slimmer, some fatter. He takes a moment to contemplate it, lights it, and settles into the bench.

I do not know his smoky musings. Done, he doesn’t linger. Back to his late-model car, back to the real world. Does he go home to his wife, or is she dead? Does he have children waiting for him? Or is it just an attendant at some senior center.

I do not know — we never speak. We know the timeline would be at risk for this Mark to speak with that Mark. Some things we must just wait for. mjh

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