Later I walked the easement, hoping my knee wouldn't act up

The two high school boys who pulled their faded red Datsun in behind me on Newlands this morning weren't in any hurry to get to school. They talked non-stop, laughing frequently as they opened the trunk, fiddled with their backpacks, sipped their Tim Hortons beverage. They took turns waiting for each other. I'd engaged in similar talk/laugh display myself, back when I was a teen-aged boy and my best buddies and I shared a language only we could love or even understand.

That much I observed through my rear-view window. I rolled the window down a crack, hoping to hear some specifics. I heard a dog bark, a garbage truck drive by. The morning itself sounded drizzly, raw.

I've been here before, I thought. A morning like this, a boy like this. A block and a half from where I used to live.