Character Sketch #16

The scowl on his face would say hit man in a movie; here, he’s simply old and tired. The department store bag he carries swings softly at his side. His tennis shoes are falling apart. 

His tan, his swagger, the fall of hair in front of his face: they all scream River Phoenix. Does this kid even know who River Phoenix is? Probably not. He knocks a shoe from the display and briefly juggles it before it gets away from him and hits the floor. He sheepishly replaces it, and I look away to save him embarrassment. 

She hangs on his arm, letting him swipe his card at store after store. She wears sequins and lipgloss; he wears scrubs and bags beneath his eyes. Their footsteps stay in sync, the bags swinging from her hand and his hand in unison. 

From the look on her face, the size of that coffee in her hand is not nearly large enough. From the speed of her walk, the comfort level of those shoes on her feet is not nearly high enough. From the longing in her eyes at the shop windows, the amount of money in her wallet is not nearly enough. 

He dresses like a hipster, but his grandchildren are old enough to be hipsters. I’m proud of you, grandpa. Age shouldn’t dictate fashion. Personality should. Good on you. 

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