Mr. Roe

Mr. Roe was a particular gentleman. He enjoyed long walks along the Avenue, dressed in best suit while hummed a tune to himself. He carried himself with poise, asserted by the cane he twirled in his hand, every now and then. He took one large respire of fresh air into his lungs and slowly exhaled it back out.

“A walk is good for your soul,” he smiled. “It clears the mind and stimulates the senses. Doctors should prescribe it more.”

“They sure should.”

“Hello,” Mr. Roe tipped his bowler hat to a couple as they passed him by. “Hello, there Miss… Hello there sir.” Mr. Roe greeted people with gust. He then passed by a glass window display and saw his reflection in the mirror.

“Why hello there,” he greeted himself. He admired the handsome reflection he saw of himself. He was a short portly man, with a round face and pink cheeks. Why, aren’t you looking quite dapper, he thought gleefully.

“Why, you look lucky.”

“I feel lucky,” responded Mr. Roe.

“Well, Lucky, you look splendid.”

“Why thank you. It’s all hard work, dressing this way,” Mr. Roe spoke to the other reflection in the mirror, though no one was standing next to him. “Today is a good day, you know.”

“You don’t say?”

“Something wonderful will come my way, I tell ya.”

 “Is that so?”

“I always expect something good to come by,” Mr. Roe grinned.

“Who are you talking to?” his nurse insisted. She had been accompanying him in his morning strolls as she did everyday.

“Now, listen to me,” Mr. Roe pointed his finger at her. “Who I talk to is no one’s business. I do as I please.”

“You keep talking to yourself like that and people will think you’ve gone potty,” she reproached him.

“I like talking to myself. It inspires me,” Mr. Roe returned to his walk. M. Stieg