Luke is older than me,
but not by much.
Late-twenties, maybe?
He looks like he was fit,
once, but now his muscles have softened.
His black hair is
speckled with premature gray.
Stress has aged him, but
not enough to hide the small glimmer of youth.
We walk for a while, both
of us clutching hot cups of dark coffee.
For a few minutes the subject
turns to the mundane, the every day. It
was…
Nice.
He smiled. I laughed.
Then our phones
vibrated.
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