futurewalking

They walk by my window every morning.

They are perhaps mid-sixties to early seventies, would be my guess. He: looks like a Bizzaro character. Shorts hemmed about 4 inches above the knee, heavy black shoes. Socks that are neither black nor white. He has never taken off his black sunglasses in any weather. They are as opaque, as thick as welding goggles. I assume they are prescription. He uses a cane and shuffles along with a cigar clamped in his jaws, billowing smoke. Every few moments he stops and removes the cigar and gets a few extra puffs in while holding it between his index and middle fingers like a cigarette.

She: not only does not use a cane, but pumps her arms in powerwalking fashion. Appears determined and, oddly, robust. Her clothing is nondescript: active old-person synthetic. She walks much faster than him and goes past him every few moments, overshooting by about 15-20 feet, then looping back, circling his rear. She doesn't usually acknowledge him in word or deed, but keeps up her strange circular pace.

I imagine they begin and end this strange ballet in roughly the same place, and I wonder which will outlive the other. That is the goal, isn't it?

It shouldn't be difficult for me to see this in my future. But the problem is envisioning any sort of future at all. My present looks so much like my past that the future happens in slow motion; happens as tomorrow or maybe the coming weekend, not 10 or 15 years from now, when I may well require a cane. And an understanding spouse.