The Window Man

I have no idea why the old man with the greying beard sits at that window. He’s sat there every night I go past on my way home from work. Never on my way to, only returning. Sometimes he glances back at the television, only to look out once more.

I’ve found myself wondering just what he may be watching for. Does he just like to see the world go by? Maybe he waits for someone to return home from work, vigilant at his vantage point of the turn into the road and the driveway by his house. How much does he see coming past his window?

Again he was looking as I made my way home. He saw me, and I saw him. So there was only one course of action: I smiled, I waved, I gave a slight nod of greeting to him.

He returned the smile, and raised his hand by way of response.

The following night he waited as I walked, another wave and smile exchanged, and again tonight. I still don’t know what he waits for. It would be rude to stop and ask. So I’ll just keep waving when I see him, that solitary window man.

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