A man, down on his luck, spots a familiar face.
It was windy that day. Wind was, and still is, my least favourite kind of weather. I would prefer to walk home in the hail then the wind. Hail doesn't keep trying to remove my hat from my head. It doesn't give me cramp in my arm because I'm trying to keep said hat where it is supposed to sit.
I digress. I'm supposed to be telling a story, not complaining about the weather. Once upon a time...
I'm joking. No good story every started like that. It simply isn't the way the world works. The only people that do think that life is full of castles and shiny rainbows are children and the heavily medicated.
So. It was windy that day. Funny how I can remember the weather from a single day thirty years ago but I can't remember where I went out to dinner with my daughter last week. Though, in my defense, it was a very important day.
It was a Saturday, too. I remember that because the streets were full of people, and I was trying to navigate my way past a pack of elderly woman with their wheelie bags and walking sticks, who always seem to slow right the way down when they know someone who hates the wind is trying to get past. Never do they get out of your way, that seems not to be an option. The only thing these wrinkled ladies can do is take up the entirety of the pavement, so that you must shuffle along behind them in the hopes that a gap just wide enough for you to fit through opens up, regardless of whether or not you bash one of their many bags as you squeeze past.
At the very moment I broke free of their barricade I was forced to stop in my tracks and allow them to overtake me again. But it didn't matter, because across the street, walking in the opposite direction was my wife.