There goes the neighborhood...

I stepped out the door to my apartment and almost bumped into my next door neighbor in the midst of the same act. I smiled shyly, got no response, and let him walk in front of me down the steps and across the parking lot. His gait was slow, shuffling, despairing. Our destinations were the same - the post boxes. As my neighbor, his box was beside mine, and I waited patiently as he checked his mail and headed back for our building.

While I waited, I looked around and tilted my head to the side as I examined the new boy in our complex once again. He was ten, maybe eleven. It was hard to tell and I was a horrible judge of age. Freckles dotted his nose as he looked down at the pavement, weaving back and forth on his skateboard. He was always on that skateboard. The other children that ran around the parking lot taunted him at first, and then shunned him. He just stared at the pavement. Hot or cold, rain or shine, he was on that skateboard, just weaving, feeling the pavement pass beneath him. I liked him. I wanted to smile, but his eyes never left the ground.

I opened my post box, pulled out the dvd I was expecting, and fell into pace behind the same shuffling neighbor. His shoes were untied, his hands empty as promises.

Everyone's always waiting for that something better to come along. Everyone's always waiting for the big break, the end of the hard times. Everyone's always trudging home empty. "Maybe tomorrow..."