Jack sat in the metal chair alongside the sidewalk, looking around. The city had mellowed now that it was night, but here and there was an occasional pedestrian and cars still passed intermittently. He looked to his left at the amorphous bookstore; it was closed, but the dim lights within revealed the checkout counter and the stacks beyond.
He wanted to wait, so he did. He was feeling rather melancholic. Settling further down into the chair and lowering his head deeper within his sweatshirt, he considered the stack of receipts sitting on the table in front of him. These slips of paper contained carefully scripted numbers and figures from an earlier time in Jack's life, and he regarded them with a mix of stale pride and regret. While he enjoyed the artfulness with which he'd created them, they were a forceful reminder of all his youthful folly, his amateur missteps and misinformed ideas. Worse yet, he'd been proud of them at the time, a pride for what he now realized had been the most forgettable kind of mediocrity. He felt very strongly that he needed to wait at this sidewalk table so that he could communicate these feelings the his past self, should the young phantasm happen by.
Montano appeared, exiting from within the closed bookstore. He walked the path, turned right and proceeding down the sidewalk. Jack watched his approach pensively. Montano stopped at Jack's post and considered the table and empty chair across from the glum lad.
"Do I sit down?" wondered Montano aloud, more to himself, it seemed. Jack remained quiet while Montano sagely rubbed his chin. He vaguely wanted Montano to sit, and just before he'd decided to communicate this preference, Montano stalked off down the street. Jack turned his head to watch Montano's departure. Montano, too, looked back at intervals to Jack before he reached the crosswalk and started across the street, skirting a pair of pedestrians traveling in the opposite direction.
Jack turned back to his table and picked up one of the diner receipts. He studied the front, with its numbers and notes, pausing on one describing something about pen caps in his wrists. It seemed a little violent. So silly, thought Jack with a sigh. He placed the receipt back into the pile and hoisted his feet up onto the opposite chair, sinking even further into his own. He felt very warm and fuzzy within the bowels of his brown sweatshirt and blue wool cap. The wind started to gently rock him back and forth, and he closed his eyes in contentment. On some level he knew that it was folly to wait for his past self, but on the surface he clung to the idea, much like a child maintains that her stuffed animal has the spark of life.
Jack opened his eyes and looked to his right to stare once more at Montano across the street. When Montano noticed Jack's eyes following him, he threw up his hands in a carefree manner and started to return to Jack's table. Jack wondered what Montano would think about the reason for his vigil.
Upon reaching the table, Montano lifted Jack's feet from the opposite chair, sat down, placed them on his knees, and removed Jack's shoes. Jack became worried about the smell his feet might be producing.
"They're wet..." said Montano, frowning slightly. He let out an abrupt laugh. "Ha! Why would I think they wouldn't be wet? Hahaha!!" laughed Montano, putting Jack's feet and shoes on the ground. Jack hurriedly bent down to deal with his bare feet, but he was glad that Montano was laughing.
