Old man...

As I was walking on the lower level this afternoon on my way to class, I came upon this old man. I would venture to say he was in his mid to late eighties.
Now, while he was walking really slow and wobbly, I thought it was pretty amazing he was getting along so well and alone, too. What caught my eye about him was his hat (newsboy/dude hat) and his hair. It looked as though he had a streak down the middle, like a stripe. While the whole of his head was white hair, I wondered about the lighter stipe, and that's when I knew I had something to write about!

Fiction starts here:

     Edgar Thompson had grown up on the streets. Now, growing up on the streets of Iowa City ain't like growing up on the streets of New York. There was typically "family" who would put them up for a time, but Edgar preferred to stay out of sight and be as little a burden as possible on whatever host they were mooching off of at the time. He spent hours walking, reading books at the library and hiking through the parks.
     Keeping on the move all those years gave Edgar a love of working outside. Parks and riverbanks had become more of a home than Edgar had known. It was something constant, permanent; they were the only thing he could rely upon through the years. But one park was more revered by Edgar than the others: Old Hickory Hill.
     There was young lady friend of his who lived near the park, and often they would have late night rondezvous; walking for hours, talking about their hopes and dreams. No one but Edgar and Lizzy ever knew about their nights, the depths of their relationship. They had always been friends, but those nights were note than that, to both of them.
     Edgar grew to learn of Lizzy's love for him; it was something that put fear into his bones. It was so intense, open, true and honest he began to push her away. He knew in his heart he wasn't good enough for her, would never be what she wanted in a few years; he wasn't someone who ever had security, and how can someone who's never had something give it to someone else? Edgar asked himself this question over and over.  He knew the answer and he also knew it wasn't a question if would she understand, but when would she understand? She eventually did, and they went their seperate ways. Both found love, both were happy.
     Edgar thought about her often through the years and when he did he ran his fingers through his hair, something Lizzy did when they were young. He often joked with himself that he ran his fingers through his hair so much he wore the color right out. Now in his eighties, a hand width streak from front to back down the middle of his head, the grey hair is a few shades lighter.

End Fiction