4

Opened the right curtain of my bedroom- it doesn’t draw it unhooks - and saw below, walking on the pavement, him, 4, using his stick, looking around, taking his time, as if proving to us he imagines watching, judging, he can’t go any faster.
He says, ‘alright, young man,’ when we meet or pass each other on the street, in a shop, in town, and when waiting for, or in the lift, we have a conversation it takes the time the lift to arrive at G, or to get where one of us is going.
See him sitting on a bench in the square on my way home and catch his eye, and he mine, we’ll wave, maybe call a greeting.