Pants of Men

A young man stood at a stop sign to wait for the car that went by.  He made his way down the street, through the cars that came to a stop at the red light.  He wore pants that were more than one size too big.  He held the top of them as he ran through a large patch of grass full of kids that were there to play, and made his way back to the street.  His shirt hung down not quite all the way to the top of his loose pants.  A small bit of plaid stuck out of his dark clothes. 

On the same street, a few blocks down, a man made his way through a crowd.  This man wore pants that fit.  They were black with a thin dark grey strip for each half an inch.  He wore a coat the same as his pants, on top of a clean white shirt.  He spoke with a stern, sly voice through his cell phone, to a man in Spain.

He did not look at the old, old man who took small short steps with his cane as his help.  The man on the phone did not feel his foot hit the cane.  The man went on his way as the Old man’s cane fell to the ground.  The old man stood still, he did not want to move for fear that he would fall. 

Then a strong hand came out to hold the arm of the old man.  The old man felt his cane back in his grip.  His gaze met the face of the man who held him still.  He saw the smile of a young man with pants too big.