Every morning he bought the paper at the newsstand and ambled up the street. Every morning, a few doors along, the old man stood, leaning on his broom or snow shovel. They greeted one another and asked of each other’s family, “Your boys doing well?” “Oh, sure, thanks. Your girl? Feeling better?” Then they parted. Every morning the old man kept watch for his friend and stepped out to meet him. The man with the newspaper adjusted his gait, watchful, waiting for the old man to appear, a bond between them built in those few minutes and even fewer words.