Nice

The Runaway Words

 

           The wind whipped through the wrinkles on Benny’s face as he hobbled across the parking lot, one hand on his cane, the other holding down his hat. He wore his old brown winter coat, leather gloves, a knitted scarf and a bowler hat. His clothes had begun to wear with use over the years, and ever since his wife had died, there was no one to sew up frayed ends or patch up ripped holes. A particularly large gust of wind hit Benny in the face and he staggered back a step as the top button of his coat popped off.

Blinking his dry eyes, Benny reached out to pick up the button, but it rolled out of the way. Harrumphing, he straightened himself on his cane, took a few steps and stretched his hand out again. His shaking fingers had barely grazed the button when it was…

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