Waiting

The old man sagged when he was not moving, like a jacket on a bent hangar. When he was moving he looked more like a marionette whose strings are not quite the right length. He shuffled a little to and fro, although never straying beyond either end of the park bench. After six paces, back and forth, from one end of the bench to the other, he would slowly sink to a seat and look at his watch. Then he would get back up, move over a few feet, and sit back down again. There he would stay, with his hands clasped and his elbows on his knees for several minutes before starting the whole process over again. Occasionally he would take off his hat, run his hand through absent hair, and then put the hat back on. The whole time, pacing or sitting, he kept looking towards 3rd street, when he was not looking at his watch.