I recall not the day, or the month, for that matter. It was as I walked toward my home from the local shopping center (the reason for which I was there I do not remember either). It was not a long journey, perhaps a block or two. It was a pleasant day, although still a cold one. The weather had been improving lately although snow still covered the ground. I was walking on a sidewalk bordering a row of houses (of what type they are, I am unsure, I have never really bothered to look at them, town houses or duplexes I believe). The trampled sidewalk formed a barrier between the snow laden yards of the houses and the brown, slushy streets just passed the occasional parked car. No one had bothered to shovel their walks. As my quickened pace brought me ever closer to my house, a brown duplex with a black mailbox and a large window to the right of the door (one giving the occupants of the room an excellent view of the yard and street outside, were it not usually hidden by thick brown curtains), I looked briefly ahead of me and saw a dottering man in a blue jacket. (at least I think it was blue, I cannot recall). Perhaps I should not say dottering, for he was not, but he was slower than I. We both swerved to the right to allow two women to pass going the opposite way. At least I think they were (women that is). I was not paying attention, and the androgynous coats made it hard to tell. As the last one passed me, I quickened to my left, hoping to get by where the opening still remained, but he moved before I had the chance, once again taking his position in the middle of the sidewalk. I cursed him silently, how dare he block me, it was as if he had done it intentionally. I slowed down, thinking perhaps I could pass on his right, I actually made a step toward that direction before I realized that the effort was a futile one. Fuck. I fell back again, following him for a few more seconds. Then I went to the left again, walking almost exclusively on the curb, my hands shoved slightly deeper into my pockets.

As I began to pass him, it seemed as though he suddenly took notice of me. "Oh! I'm sorry." he said and moved to the right. I mumbled something like 'No problem' and continued past. His face had been old, he had the wrinkles of not someone who is aged, but old, and his voice had been almost melodic as he apologized. For some reason "old-country" came into my mind as I thought of him. He seemed the type of man who came from a different time, who was genuinely sorry. As I thought of my utter hatred for him only moments ago, I felt ashamed. I probably would have just shuffled to my right and mumbled some halt-hearted apology at best. What reason did I have to have hated him, how was he to know I was there? Why wasn't I like that? He seemed like the type of man who liked to converse, even in that brief sentence he seemed to be drawing me in, waiting for me to reply but instead I had mumbled something he probably did not even hear. Maybe I should turn around. No, continue.

As I think back I would like to say I remember his face, that I will never forget his words, but even now they fade.

I wish we had talked.