Familiar Face

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I don’t recall his name, we have never spoken directly.

But I know who he is, as he knows me.

I guess we know of each other, but do not know one another.

Same schools, same schoolmates, same home town.

Same restaurants, same bars, same shops.

We remember what this little city was, what it turned into and what it now is becoming.

The same parables and legends and people populate our memories.

Familiar streets, parks and places.

I slept with one of his friends, maybe two.

He used to walk quite regularly, striding in a stride that many here have.

Hard to explain how a person from a geography has a tempo. A manner of movement that is seemingly nurtured by the surrounds.

I don’t know if that is a universal phenomena, but I have seen this gait in our area, and some have it strong, others in passing, a few with faint traces.

I have traces.

He looked old in the face, tan, peripherally aware of me, as I him.

We passed each other at the corner store.

Me on my way out, in my pink plaid pajama bottoms and a mismatched navy pajama long sleeve button up top.

My unpedicured feet in black reef sandals. No makeup, no care, no shame.