Shuffle, Step, Shuffle

He's got really thick glasses. When he shifts his gaze from his feet to his surroundings, he looks like a fish. He opens his mouth and closes it intermittently, blowing bubbles of nonsense words. He mutters to himself a bit. I see this man nearly everyday; he walks up and down my street. He's obviously very old and has some severe physical problem which limits his ability to take a full step, so instead he sort of shuffles, dragging his feet a bit and taking tiny, toddler-like steps. I've never timed him, but it must take him an hour to walk my little road, whereas it takes me less than a minute. He always wears a coat and looks prepetually prepared for Sunday Mass, a throwback to a different era in Spain. He seems fragile yet tough, someone who won't give up no matter the difficulties.

I was therefore a little surprised to find him yesterday sitting on the bench.
Smoking a cigar.

Keep on shuffling, pimp.