Michael

The sign was gone. I thought that it might be, but of course more than anything else I think that things go the way that I hope they do, at least when I put in the extra effort. I did run across the street to find it. I decided to double check, and not to prematurely admit defeat, as I normally do, and sure enough, it was still there, maybe even moved, but it was there. I looked at it for a minute, may have even touched it, I really do love nothing more than a person doing something with no idea of self gain. I took a couple pictures of the pole, not caring who saw, I got what I was came for. A man in aviator sun glasses, older than I would feel appropriate talking to on a friendly basis, but sweet, asks cooly, "What did you take a picture of?" I walk back to the stickers, graffiti and signs, as he looked at them top to bottom. I pointed, "This one. I really like this one." I kept my feet planted, not something I often do, especially consciously, but I didn't want to run away this time. He asks how long I've lived here, I tell him where our duplex is, we make street directions with our arms, more than once. I never took off my sunglasses, and neither did he, I looked at his beard, his hair, cut-off shirt, his colored tattoo, but I was not uncomfortable. I ask him questions too, he tells me directions, restaurants, where he lives, how long he has lived here, he speaks of hidden gems, and we laugh a little about the pumpkin curry at Champa Garden that we have both had. We talked, and no one was trying to leave, and no one had to be anywhere, or knew where the other was going next. I longed to ask him about his tattoo, I knew that he would tell me, and in these kind of situations I want to do what I'd want, but I did not wish to jeopardize my favorite aspect of the whole thing, the conformability. I wondered why he wanted to talk to me, but that feeling didn't last, and I discontinued telling myself that he did not want to any more, who fucking knows, but I have something at all to offer. I liked how he spoke, and how we never once broke eye contact, the whole time, not once, but I never saw his eyes either. He didn't ask me where I worked, or why here, and I didn't either, we didn't want to know. I felt great that I knew cross streets, and locations, towns. He of course knew of Grass Valley. He called Jack London Square "boughie", and though I do not show strangers my teeth, I grinned a deserving grin. The conversation never slowed down, or sped up. I knew he was good at this sort of thing, doing what he wanted, but I truly hoped that he would introduce himself properly, as laid back and relaxed as he was. Soon after, I thanked him, and he knew I was sincere, and not bored, he told me that his house was green, after asking for my name. We shook hands, I repeated his name, Michael, back to him twice, the last thing that I wanted was to forget. I said I hoped we run into each other again some day, he agreed, and as he walked away, he told me I could come by any time.