Encounter at the Beach

Here comes that twirling fool again. With his arms outstretched and holes in the ass of his jeans, he kicks up red dust. Even in this heat, he smiles his simple smile with his big too-blue eyes and says "Gee thanks mister" when I give him a cup of water. It's just water and don't call me mister.

Minus the patchouli and blue eyes, I used to be that fool until I made some choices, gave up some freedom for some comfort. Now I can never go back, at least until dementia sets in. An innocent smile is a rare commodity. It expires.