Two Left Feet

Today I saw Jimmy. It was golden hour and birds were frantic, as I marched my two left feet to the gas station. My pace came to an unexpected halt when I saw Jimmy, all swollen and sad. When I said hey, he said the same, and he told me about his dad. I didn’t know, I was out of touch. I wish Jimmy could smile, and he did try, but it was painful to watch. I told him how I ran out of cigarettes and needed to buy some from the petrol station, closest place from home. When he offered me one, his hands were cold and his eyes were blank. Where was Jimmy going? And where did he come from? I didn’t bother asking. Jimmy was Jimmy, but this version of Jimmy was lost and slowly drifting. I asked him to come for a cuppa, my house wasn’t far, I walked my two left feet here after all. But he said no thank you, he had somewhere to be. As he spoke his very few and cold words, his wrinkled shirt reeked of loneliness and hostility. Memories and visions flooded my eyes as I remembered when Jimmy was happy and never cynical. Optimism was Jimmy’s middle name, but now he’s just Jimmy. Sad, old Jimmy.