We are friendly, but not friends. Men of a certain age, following our own paths, they intersect on occasion.
A bump into meeting.
"Hi, how's it going?"
He gestures at the autumn leaves that made the pavement ankle deep that morning, the first time this year. We skip over the conversation about the weather, smile at the season and each other.
He says, "we can pretend we are somewhere interesting."
"Let's go with Paris."
"Paris, why not?"
"Bon soir."
"Bon soir."
I like it when our paths intersect.
Parkstreet
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