WAG #19 Pick a Pocket
WAG #19: Pick a Pocket” Let’s do some people-watching for this one! Pick someone out of a crowd and describe what (you imagine) is in their pockets (Unless you want to be brave and ask them!) Give us both meaning and physical details, and don’t forget to let yourself be surprised. (This week’s topic inspired by WAG founder India Drummond's son Bear.)
I hate waiting for freight trains.
There are a lot of grade crossings where I live in Colorado. The beef can't walk to market, after all, and the various ores from the mountains aren't transported by 20-mule teams. Trains are ubiquitous. And necessary.
The drivers in Colorado seem more patient than those I saw (and was) when I lived in Illinois. Maybe because the scenery is better or the sky bluer; I don't know why. In Colorado, people wait quietly for trains or traffic lights or other delays.
In Illinois it was an insult to a driver to be stopped for any reason besides a twenty car pile up, and I can recall once getting stopped by the Indiana Harbor Belt and sitting in the same spot for what seemed an eternity. I glared around at my fellow travelers, accusing them of plotting to be in my way and preventing me from making a U-turn.
As I glanced around, my eyes fell on a little old man, standing in front of the pharmacy I was halted by. He had a knowing little smile on his face as he rocked back and forth, from heels to toes - forward and back, forward and back. This caused his hips to swing to and fro, forward and back. His twinkling eyes found mine and his little smile broadened.
I'm certain I turned fifteen shades darker of crimson because of what I noticed. Very near the fly of his light-colored trousers was a hard bulge that tightened whenever his hips swung forward. He slipped his hand deep into his pocket and his smile grew even wider.
"Grampa!" came a childish yell, accompanied by little shoes tapping on the sidewalk.
The old man gave a glad cry and pulled a round lollipop from his pocket for a little girl.