He’s a little under 6 feet, slim, erect, well at least his posture anyway, preceding me in the early morning coffee line like a well-heeled West Point Cadet, getting his double latte and New York Times with daily precision.
He nods, rarely speaking, unless a day passes without me, then he’ll call across the room, “Where were you yesterday?”
“Working,” I’ll say, as he glides out the door.
I love how he dresses…his finely tailored suit pants with a crease that could carve ham…gray, more often navy blue, with a slim stripe winking, all beneath a muted green topcoat. No hat, just a scarf billowing like an aviator’s…shoes so polished they light him as he strolls.
He wears Ben Franklin glasses that sit on his long, patrician nose creating a boundary so not to see too deeply into big, brown basset hound eyes.
Is he handsome? Hmm, not really, yet there is something awfully natty about him, not to be confused with naughty, since he wears a wedding band the width of a halo.
Kinda throws his outfit off a bit making you wish, why can’t they just make one in tweed…:)