I walked home today from my classroom by the malecon.
I saw a teenage girl, white shirt and a yellow skirt uniform, sitting out recess leaning against the northern fence. An older man in his dirty clothes was passing his day leaning towards her. She was languishing in her youth. I could tell
by the way she held her eyelashes, and her elbows pressed against her chest. He was struggling for some sentiment—love, maybe, or some other challenge.
I did not break my stride then, but had to stop to look at traffic at the corner.
I saw traffic, and I saw a man.
The man had beautiful leather shoes on his feet and stood at the dumpster.
He found a pair of dusty old black loafers as I watched him.
He put the loafers on the ground and sized his shiny polished leather foot against the dusty one.