They’d been coming to Buca di Beppo for years; longer than either could remember. She enjoyed the fact that their takeout was “Flavorful”. He appreciated the air conditioning, an amenity once worthy of neon immortalization.
The neighborhood had changed in the prior decades. She didn’t remember seeing these women with their head scarves and he didn’t understand the motorcycles and why their riders were always in a hurry. But the neighborhood was theirs and they liked it.
But more than the neighborhood and their favorite restaurant, they liked each other. He looked cautiously at the traffic coming down the one-way street. He was more cautious than he used to be but he needed too be; cane always in hand, feet shuffling more than walking, the world speeding up every day. But then there was her: his bride.
Her spine bent with age, a little more than last year. She needed her cane more than he did. She remembered feeling straight and lively and pretty. He didn’t mind at all. Needing each other as much as ever, they grasped for wrinkled hands – as they had done thousands of time before – and slowly made their way across the street.
(Disclaimer: the photo is real the narrative above is pure conjecture :-)