One of my neighbors is this old man who takes walks every night at midnight. His steps are so tiny and he walks so slow, it takes him about 2 hours to make it around the block. And he drags his left leg, his walk making a clomp-shhhhh, clomp-shhhhh sound. clomp-shhhhh, clomp-shhhhh.
Sometimes he wears a military hat, presumably earned from some past war. I like to think he limps because of a war injury, rather than a stroke or other pedestrian scenario. Hopefully there's a good story at least.
Last night, as I walked past him shuffling into the gate at 1:45 AM, he smiled. "I WAS DOWN ON LINCOLN ROAD!" he said. Everything he says, he takes a deep breath and strains his voice with the words. "IT'S SUCH A NICE PLACE. I GOT TO BUY DRINKS FOR SOME PRETTY LADIES."
Lincoln Road was the other way than from where he was walking, I'm afraid. Oh well. "That sounds good," I said, and I held the gate while he walked through. clomp-shhhhh, clomp-shhhhh, clomp-shhhhh.
Every night, he takes his walk. Same loop, right around the block. And for him, it's an evening filled with endless adventures.
It must be fun, partying with all the pretty girls in his head. He seems to enjoy himself, he smiles a lot. Perhaps he'll invite all those ladies over for Thanksgiving.