Two fellows argued near a phone. One of them, greying hair, a turpentine diluted blue cardigan, gestured with both hands. The other rolled his eyes up and tilted his head sideways. He made fleeting eye contact and though not the elder, he was the taller. They spoke urgently, probably not clearly but I was too far away to hear. Their urgencies pushed through different happenstances. The taller one that often looked away, spoke less. Maybe he used shorter or quicker words.
The greying man raised his hands, hovered them somewhere between shoulder and head. Palms open and facing each other, they shook slightly in the space around his words. I think he asked for understanding, believing it’d be enough. Maybe he demanded a responsibility in full or he plead for the importance of one little family event. No saying.
The taller fellow, it turns out, wasn’t quite yet a man. Perched on stilt legs, his thick parka quietly bulged resistance around his torso. Birds puff their feathers to portray an image of dominance or the selfish impression thereof.
Finally, the tall one raised his hands in a gesture (probably unintentional) that mimicked the greying man. He didn’t look the greying man in the eye—just extended one leg in the opposite direction and followed it with the other. He stepped from the hip, in measures like a metronomic pigeon. His shoulders raised high and bent to incline the upper portion of the parka. He continued a few beats to the next corner. The greying fellow, resigned, strode away, his face empty and cheeks adroop.