There was a boy sitting on the cracked asphalt
after buying ice cream from a man
who made less money than the beggar
across the street.
The boy's jean overalls were covered with indiscernible
items of old food, but it didn't come off as lazy.
It came off as cute.
I guess that's the difference between him and me.
He had on two different colored socks,
one sky blue and the other navy blue, (an obvious fashion statement)
but they weren't as noticeable as his shoes.
They were showing signs of the
boundless nights of tag and
hide and go seek that he had been playing
for the past couple years.
It made me jealous.
Not so jealous that I wanted to steal his shoes.
They lit up when he moved,
and that would be pretentious for an adult.
But jealous enough that I started to imagine how vicariously I would try to live through my son.