#ohhowtheclockshaveturned

It was like a ritual. He was always too early or always too late for the figure that put flowers on the graves every Sunday. Always too late to see the steam rising from the coffee, and feel the chill on the milkshake. Always too early to be greeted by the sluggish figure that would sit down and pay his respects. But not today. It had been weeks and he finally figured out the schedule and timing. This time, he arrived minutes after the other was settled down. He brought his own flowers this time as well. Walking up he stood a good three feet away, hesitating, but then pacing forward to place the flowers down on the respective graves. Stepping away a little he stood to the left of the other figure.       “Hello, Aizawa-san.”