The Immaculate Man

Immaculate. Cleanly cut.  A stoic old man steps boldly onto Bus 22 on an early Monday morning.

Contrasting sharply with his dark, charcoal complexion, his white hair and matching white beard are impeccably groomed and accentuated by the stiff brim of his fedora floating gently atop his head.

Cleanly pressed, the crisp edges of his white jacket fall flawlessly with no single wrinkle in sight.

His sharp appearance is softened by a light, flowing scarf.  Tightly knotted and draping slightly to the right side of his neck, it balances the leftward tilt of his hat.

Beneath his white jacket is a white shirt, neatly buttoned and pressed to perfection.

Firmly gripping a well-kept briefcase with his his right hand, its deep black shimmer matches perfectly with his black, polished dress shoes.

His laces are perfectly laced, with each bunny-eared loop falling equidistant on each side of each shoe.

His white socks beam from below. It’s impossible not to notice every detail of this man’s outfit, from head to toe.

His outfit was impeccable, Muni or not. There’s just one thing– he forgot to put on his pants. Luckily he remembered his boxers.

This city makes me smile every day.