Characters

I've come to expect this crossing to present a character or two. Maybe it's the proximity to the library, gathering place for literati and oddballs alike. Maybe it's just my morning luck (and I do mean that honestly) to encounter society's eccentrics there.

The man I spotted yesterday was a throwback to an era unsure. He could have been a transplant from 1968, a late-in-the-game Beatles admirer in a rust-colored, doublebreasted, straight-leg suit with shiny buttons. His lapel presented a scattering of buttons of uncertain message, half-hidden behind a wide collar. He wore hipster ankle boots; he tucked his long straight hair nervously behind his ears.
He did not belong here, and he seemed to know it. I hoped for his sake that he was meeting friends somewhere.