you can tell

you can tell a man by the way he walks, the treads of his shoes or the soles of his worn-out feet. the late darkness of the hour grips the city as he walks his usual route home. it rains lightly and he steps through muddy puddles onto the pavement of lombard st. the death of night surrounds him. damp. philadelphia is caught in a rare quietude, and his overcoat is filled with a weight of momentary pride. it is residue of the day’s treasures, tucked into the lining of the leather, and whining softly. tomorrow he won’t weigh so much…or so he promises. the nervous silence is stunted with echoes of scorn: sarcastically gratuitous, respectful. ~~~