Arcade

I wanted the old men who ran the arcade to be heartwarming gentlemen. I wanted them to be ambassadors of another, better time. I waited for them to greet me gracefully in the morning, to tip their hats and nod their heads to me in the evening, to follow these actions with an elegantly deferential word, a salute to the old-world duty of gallant man to eminent woman. In three years of coexisting in that arcade, three years of hopefully entering and exiting that building, expectant smile on, head ready to nod warmly in response to a sweet phrase, a charming word, a kind smile, I never received so much as a glance from the old men who ran the arcade.